


amped and wired, part two

by josiebelladonna



Series: now it's dark [5]
Category: Anthrax (US Band), Bandom, Metallica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blow Jobs, Dark Comedy, Dark Magic, F/M, Foursome - F/F/F/M, Gallows Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Ghosts, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Killer Robots, Mad Science, Mad Scientists, Mild Smut, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, New York, New York City, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Orgy, Quote: I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good (Harry Potter), Sci Fi Horror, Science Experiments, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Secrets, Slow Build, Strip Chess, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vulnerability, black mamba's back children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 73,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/josiebelladonna
Summary: subtitle: out of the ashesThe follow up to part one, and picking up where the boys and girls left off, and they think they solved the mystery of Maya and answered a major question surrounding her. They think so, anyways.
Relationships: Joey Belladonna/Original Female Character, Lars Ulrich/Original Female Character
Series: now it's dark [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1519889





	1. break my body

**Author's Note:**

> written for nanowrimo 2020!  
> as before, none of this is in fact real or actually happened. just writing a sci-fi story that's also a comedy~
> 
> ***update 1/17/21: given it takes place in the same universe as now it's dark, but it's from a more comedic standpoint, i'm moving this one, as well as part one, the illustrations, and the dead trilogy under the moniker of "now it's dark".  
> you know. just so it's more organized.

It had been two days since Lars and I returned home from the City and I had no idea when he wanted to return home to the Bay Area. While I had been relishing in every moment I was in bed and taking my sweet time in getting up: the feeling of having all the blankets wrapped around me like I was a burrito of some sort. I always buried my head into the real soft part of the pillow: it all cradled me like my mom's arms. I always woke up toasty warm and feeling soft.

He seemed more adept at lounging on my couch forever than making an effort to get back home—and I thought I had my lazy moments. If it was any compliment to him, he didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like what happened to me. But for two full days now, I had gotten up and found him lazing on the couch, right on top of one of my blankets in his plain T-shirt and pants; at least he took off his shoes—I think he only got up to take a piss whenever he could and wanted to. The second morning I woke up to get myself a cup of coffee and check on him, he remained in the same spot as the night before, even when I told him “good night.” Really, I don't think he even so much as moved.

At one point, I looked into his face from clear across the room and I wanted to pat the sides of his face or maybe bitch slap 'em a li'l bit but I knew it was to be a bit too much at that time. Those green eyes seemed to gaze off into nothing, kind of like how I felt the moment I hung up the phone from Charlie. His arms dangled about him like the arms of a marionette puppet without its master. His body looked heavy and small at the same time: sluggish, if you will, like one of the many Mayas after he knocked their heads off.

Every now and again, I thought of asking him how he felt, and every single time, I thought he would reply to me in the worst way possible. I sat at the kitchen table humming to myself and thinking of drumlines to put down once I stole a moment in a studio when I thought of his drumming. But he didn't seem so intent on making any kind of movements such as that even vaguely possible.

Eventually before dinner on that second night, I strode up to him with a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach, and yet it needed to be done. He lay there on my couch with his arms folded over his chest and his face glazed over like he had been spinning around in too many circles. It was the most he had moved in two days.

“Alright, Lars, it's been a coupla days,” I started at a quick clip, “do ya mind tellin' me what's goin' on in that head of yours?”

He didn't reply: he continued to stare up at the ceiling with that blank expression on his face. I ran my fingers through my black curls, such that I could feel their dried out roots. I needed a shower, or a drink of water. Or both.

“Lars,” I said in a low voice. “Lars.”

He didn't move or make a sound. He just lay there like he was stoned out of his wits, but his eyes were way too clear. I frowned at him and I was unsure if he could even see me. There was a faint little nugget of light in those green irises, but nothing to write home about. I sighed through my nose and doubled back to the kitchen to start on making something for the both of us. The least I could do was make him something, given the night before I just made myself something: I would have asked him if he wanted anything to eat for himself but he didn't even bat a lash at the notion of me eating two helpings of chili solo.

Given it was rather cold that night with that freezing torrential lake effect rain making its way in, I was in the mood for something traditional but I didn't feel like ringing up my mom especially since the night began falling upon us. But I needed something to warm me up, something to coax me back into bed.

Something with pasta and some tomatoes. The real meat and potatoes.

I kept that in mind as I whipped up a big pot of angel hair and some tomato sauce—I wished for my mom's meatballs there with me, but it was either eat it there while it was all still hot or let it get cold (ew!)

I slung a dish towel over my shoulder even though I wasn't much of a cook so to speak, but it was good enough, though. I lingered over the top of the pot of sauce, and rested my hands on the edge of the counter, and took a whiff. I'm a simple Italian boy: I make something with tomatoes, I've gotta smell it. I closed my eyes and relished in that nice smell for a moment before I went to tell Lars about it. I still had the towel over my shoulder as made my way into the next room.

“Lars, I made some spaghetti—you want some?”

He still didn't reply. I finally buried my face in my hands and let out an exasperated sigh.

“C'mon, Lars, ya gotta eat!” I insisted, and I made my way into the next room. I stood over him with my hands on my hips. I wasn't much taller than him, but I was the one standing over him. I knew what he was feeling, but I needed him to eat, especially since he hadn't eaten anything or even so much as had a drink of water in the past two days alone.

“Lars,” I said in a firm tone of voice. “Lars!”

He parted his lips a tiny little bit and a soft mumble emerged from the back of his mouth, except I couldn't exactly hear what he said. I stopped in place, and then I wondered if he was saying something but his mouth was too dry. I crouched down next to him.

“What was that?” I asked him in a softer tone. He made the noise again: it sounded as though he had something stuck in his throat. I ran my tongue along my bottom lip and I realized that I needed a drink of water myself.

“What'd you say? C'mon, man, help me out here.”

Lars closed his lips and swallowed it down. He rolled his head to the side.

“Lars,” I said again; his eyes were closing. “Lars! Lars—hey, c'mon, man, wake up!”

He fell asleep right there.

“Lars... Lars!”

I reached for the sides of his face and patted him several times.

“Come on—come on!”

I reached down for the side of the blanket and gave it a good yank. Fell right on my ass and bumped my knee on the bottom of the couch.

“Ow! Damn!”

I looked up to find he hadn't budged or even so much as changed his expression. I fetched up an exasperated sigh and stood to my feet, albeit my knee and the lower parts of my legs all throbbing in pain. I fixed the towel on my shoulder and ran my fingers through my hair again. Yeah, I definitely needed a drink of water to go with my pasta.

I made my way back into the kitchen and served myself a plate, complete with lots of tomato sauce. My mom's meatballs definitely would have been the finishing touch on it, but I didn't have much other choice. I drank down a big glass of water to go with it, but I knew I would have to shower, too, seeing as I had no chance to do so yesterday or the day before when we made our return.

I had two helpings seeing as I wanted to give some to Lars, but he hadn't said anything about it so I helped myself. The second time I added some grated parmesan on top for a little more of a nuance.

Afterwards, I rinsed off my plate and put away the rest in the fridge. Since I had a two large helpings of it, my jeans were feeling a little extra snug than normal. In fact, my stomach had a little more tightness than usual. I was warm—a little too warm. And soft.

Granted, it wasn't that late, but my bed called me from the kitchen there. I ran my fingers through my curls again, but that time I reached over with my other hand to switch off the light. The whole place engulfed with dim light from the lights and the orange reflection of it all on the clouds outside. I lifted my arms over my head to let my belly hang out a little bit and then I made my way towards my room.

“Do you think I should call my mother?” Lars asked me, and the sound of his voice sliced through the silence so quickly, it made me jump. But I caught myself and fixed the collar of my sweatshirt. I looked over at him and his eyes staring back at me through the darkness.

“Well—do you need to call her?” I led him into it.

“I do not know. And I do not know what to tell her, either. Like, what am I supposed to tell her, 'hi, Mom. Is Dad around? Oh, nothing... just gone depressing and everything...”

I frowned at him even though I knew he couldn't see me.

“Is there still some pasta left?” he asked.

“Yeah, there's plenty. I was just about to go in here and chill for a little while before I go to sleep.”

“It's not even that late, though.”

“Yeah, but I'm very full and warm, so...”

“Ah. Feeling relaxed.”

“Besides, you gotta eat, man. I banged my knee and my shin on the couch tryin' ta get yer ass up.”

“I know you did.”

“Well, why didn't you?”

“'Cause I'm an idiot. That's why.”

“Lars, you're not an idiot. You're not. Trust me. I'm the idiot here.”

“You?” He seemed appalled by that.

“Yeah. The biggest idiot you've ever seen.”

“Joey, you're a fucking badass, man. You're a hero.”

“A hero? No, no, no, nah, nah, nah, nah. No. No freaking way.”

“You are, though. You don't realize it right now, but you are in fact a hero.”

“Do you want some pasta or no?”

“I might as well.” Even though it was dark, I could smell the disappointment on him from there. I strode over to the lamp next to the chair and switched it on: golden yellow light washed over the room, and in time for his sitting up from the couch.

“By the way, I hope you can forgive me,” he started again. I turned around to face him with my eyebrows knitted together.

“For what?”

“Taking up your couch.”

“You're not takin' up anything, Lars,” I assured him.

“Really?”

“Really. Really, really.”

He groaned in his throat and he stood to his feet. I watched him make his way into the kitchen for a plate of pasta himself, and then I sank down on the couch myself. His laying there for as long as he did gave it an extra touch of softness. I heard him shuffling about in there but I found myself figuring out the cushions a bit more right then. I spread my legs and leaned back: softer than normal. Lars tenderized this thing. It helped that I was extra full so I could relax to of great extent right there.

Speak of the devil, he returned to the front room with a small plate of it in one hand and he took his seat next to me.

“It's not my mom's but—” I shrugged at him. “—what're ya gonna do.”

He once again stayed in silence. In fact, the whole entire time he ate it up, he was silent. I had one arm up on the back of the couch and my legs spread wide open.

At one point, he looked over at me with his mouth of those slender little noodles with a bemused look on his face. His eyes flicked down to my thighs and my crotch and then he examined my body. He swallowed the bite.

“What?” I asked him.

“Nothing. It's just—it's good to have a quiet moment for once.”

“I know, right?” I chuckled at that. “How is it, by the way?”

“It's delicious. Perfect, like it just... hits the spot.”

“I was in the mood for sump'n traditional,” I confessed with another shrug of the shoulders. “By the way, you gonna be fine out here? Y'know, sleepin' tonight? I know you did it the first night we got back, and then last night, too.”

“Actually, I was—I was wondering if—” He paused.

“Wondering if what?” He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“What?”

His face fell.

“Lars?”

The room was silent, save for the tiny beginning droplets on the roof overhead.

One of the best things ever, I don't care what happens to me in life, is falling asleep when your stomach is nice and full and the rain hits the roof in torrents. It will never get old and I was wishing for that right then and there: just take off my clothes and climb into bed and relish in the warmth while listening to the rain over me.

“I was wondering if you would—allow me—to—bunk with you tonight.”

“Like, in my bed with me?”

“Yes. We can sleep head to toe if you wish.”

“Uh—um—yeah,” I said, reluctant. “Yeah, we can do that. It beats sleepin' out here by yourself.”

“Exactly! I was feeling alone for a bit there before you turned off the light.”

“Well, why didn't you say somethin'?”

“I didn't know how to break it to you, especially after all that's happened.”

“Lars, look at me...”

And he did.

“I've got a feelin' that you and I are gonna be here a while,” I told him with a clearing of my throat. “That is until—sump'n happens. I dunno what, though.”

He set his fork down on the edge of the plate and took another look at me.

“You done?” I asked him and I held out my hand to take his plate.

“Yes, but I'll take it, though, Joey. Don't worry about it.”

He stood to his feet and I watched him make his way over to the kitchen. I stayed there on those extra cushions for a moment before I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I looked over at the mouth of the hallway and saw something moving over there. I fetched up a sigh and I knew it had to be either Vera or Mrs. Snow coming forth given the sun had gone down and the rain was falling over our heads. I had to find a sweet spot, a little pocket of time to tell Lars about the ghosts here, otherwise who knows how he would react?

He returned to the front room with his long hair tousled a bit and his face in a daze.

“You alright?” I asked him.

“Oh, yeah. I should ask you that, too, though.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip.

“Joey—? Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I live with ghosts,” I said up front, with no strings attached.

“Ghosts? Like—actual entities of the dead? You live with ghosts?” He chuckled a little bit at that.

“Yeah.”

He burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“There's no such thing!” he declared.

“Yes, there is! I live with four of them!”

“I am sure you do, Joey. That pasta in your belly is starting to getting to you a bit, methinks.”

“Why would I bullshit about that sort of thing, Lars?” I demanded while keeping my arm up on top of the couch. “By the way, did you actually just say 'methinks'?”

“Methinks so!” he cracked, but I rolled my eyes at that.

“Lars, I'm serious. There are four ghosts here: a little girl, an old man, a nurse, and a woman about our age.”

“Why, of all places did they choose this little apartment, though?” he asked with another low chuckle.

“Hell if I know. They just kinda came with the place as far as I know.”

“There is an Indian reservation near here, though.”

“Yeah, I know there is. My mom and my grandma used to take me there when I was a little boy.” I hesitated for a second, and then I realized what he meant by that. “Wait. You don't think—”

“It's possible. You know the whole thing about building things upon an Indian burial ground and whatnot.”

“Yeah, but there's nuthin' upon the actual graveyard, though. It's just a blank stretch of grass with some open trenches and a couple of trees, but that's about it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“See what?”

“It's open air.”

“It's not open air.”

“Sounds like it, though.”

“But it's not!”

“Are we gonna go to bed or not?”

I opened my mouth to say something but no noise came out. The sole noise came from the rain on the roof, which then picked up. The best thing ever and I was squandering it.

“Yeah. Let's.”

I stood to my feet and I felt the pasta weigh down inside my stomach. I clasped a hand there to steady myself.

“And I thought I liked to eat,” he joked.

“Eat, sleep, kick ass, repeat,” I told him as he made his way into my room. He was first to switch on the light to which he laughed again.

“I'm afraid to ask,” I confessed to him.

“There's no ghosts in here, Joseph.”

I fetched up a sigh at that. They were reticent to come out because the light was on, I just knew it. In fact, once I doubled back to switch off the lamp in the living room, I was met with a slight chill, one that ran up my arms and my spine. I knew it wasn't from the window given I had closed it just prior to the rains entering the area.

“Joey?” Lars called.

“Coming.”

I returned to my room in time to find him crawling under the covers with no pants on.

“Okay, so how we gonna do this,” I wondered aloud.

“Head to toe,” he insisted.

“I know—I just don't know which way we're gonna have to lay here, though.”

“Here, I'll sleep this way—” He crawled towards the foot of the bed and lay down on his side. He lay the side of his head on the soft part of the mattress.

“You gonna be okay right there?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

I squinted at him, to which he lifted his head and gazed at me with those little eyebrows of his raised. I lifted a finger and doubled back to the front room once again for a pillow from the couch. I felt the chill once again, but it was the least of things on my mind at the moment. I came back to the room once again with it in both hands.

“You're not gonna suffocate me with that thing, are you?” he asked me with a look of fear in his eyes.

“Nah, you'd haveta beg me to do that to ya,” I assured him. “Lift yer head—”

He raised himself up on his elbow so I could slide the pillow underneath his head, and then he lay back down.

“That's better. Thank you, Joey.”

“I just didn't like the idea of you laying there with nuttin' to support your head. I mean you saw me gettin' up back there.”

“Yeah, but that's your belly. We're talking my head here.”

“Hey, if we were talking heads, we'd be in gray woolly suits and barefoot, mmkay?”

“Given it's the same it ever was, too,” he pointed out.

“Exactly!” I stripped off my shirt and folded it up before putting it away in the dresser drawer. My eyelids were feeling heavy and I was feeling heavy and ready for bed myself. It wasn't that late, but it sure felt like it. I crawled underneath the covers next to Lars—he had his back to me, which meant I would have the backs of his legs pressed against my chest. And then I reached up to switch off the light.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered.

“What?” I lay my head down on my pillow.

“Dark in here.”

“Dark and lovely,” I corrected him as I nestled down under the covers. I brought the blankets up to my ear and closed my eyes. Between the warmth in my stomach, having him next to me, and the rain on the roof, I was quick to fall asleep.

I found myself in the warehouse, the one down in the City where all of that butchering went down. I was laying on top of the table with my arms outstretched on either side of me. Someone stole my clothes: I looked down and saw a big light the size of a truck tire hovering over me. It took me a second to realize it was an x-ray machine. Someone was giving me x-rays without giving me some kind of protection.

I rolled my head over to see a guy hovering over me. I couldn't see his face given the sheer extent of the shadow in there. But I could see his hands, the size of dinner plates, and his fingers, long, spindly, and pointed with razor blades. I wondered what he would do to me, that is if he did anything to me.

I watched him linger closer to me.

“What're you doing?” I demanded. He didn't answer: I felt something brush against the sides of my neck. I looked on either side of me to find someone had also cut my hair at the roots. My hair! I had no mirror on hand but I knew didn't look right.

But that was the least of my problems right then.

The man moved in closer to my stomach, right underneath the x-ray light. Those fingers shone bright like shiny brand new knives underneath that pallid light. The pointed tips grazed against my skin: light as feathers but sharper than any knife I had ever encountered. A gentle caress was enough to break the skin.

I didn't feel any pain. At first.

And then he caressed me again.

It was enough for my chest to rise but I couldn't make a sound.

He did it again, and that time he used both hands. He sliced me open with no anesthesia and no regard for my body. I could feel those claws tearing into my flesh and my organs. I could feel him messing with it all. I looked down without moving my head to find my skin fanned out from my midsection, each layer spread out like lace.

“He's perfect,” said a woman next to me.

“I'm glad you brought him in,” he told her in a soft voice, “this is what he gets for being such a little play thing. The outsider looking in. This is what he gets.”

I writhed in pain but it was useless, especially since I had been strapped down to the table.

“Such gorgeous flesh,” said the nurse. “Perfect for clones.”

“I almost don't want to clean it,” said the man as he sawed through my hip bones. I was wide awake and hemorrhaging, but I witnessed the whole entire thing. Every slice. Every hole made by the points of his fingers in my intestines and in my stomach. I could feel my organs oozing out with each puncture. Sawing through my bones felt like sawing through something celery. Or a raw potato. I had become both meat and potatoes to this guy.

Cutting me open without any remorse for what he had done to me.

“Poor beautiful little boy—thinks he can get away with being so rude,” the nurse taunted me; I had no idea if she was Mrs. Snow or not, but who gives a shit. I felt him slicing down my legs, and in between my legs. It was like one of those slicers you'd see at the meat department in the grocery store, except I was on the slicing end.

“Take his flesh,” he told the nurse. “It's delicate and lush and healthy. He's perfect for cloning.”

“What should we do with his blood?” she asked him.

“Save it. It's been caught here, see? As for his hair—those black curls—take it to the seamstress for some sewing. We can't let any part of him go to waste.”

“But what about the rest of his corpse, though?”

I couldn't hear what he was saying because the pain was so monumental, so overwhelming, that I couldn't scream. I had been torn open and torn apart. Sliced apart and butchered like a carcass. My blood spilling over the edges of the table and down into buckets because they knew what would happen. My insides mutilated and used like they were nothing. Torn to shreds for nothing more than being me.

I couldn't scream given he was about to tear into my lungs and my throat. But I screamed anyway. I screamed as he broke through my ribs and punctured my lungs.

I was a dead man but I was screaming at the top of my lungs anyway.

If Charlie could hear me scream from miles away, then surely the dead would, too.

I shook myself awake and I stared into the darkness. I was met by the sound of the rain on the roof and Lars' gentle snoring. It took me a second to realize he pressed his heels against my stomach, which still felt very full. Careful not to wake him, I shifted over onto my back. I rested my hands on my stomach to feel the warmth and also if I was still intact.

The whole image of it haunted me to no end. Every time I closed my eyes I envisioned... that.

That warehouse. That everything about it inside of it. The things and stuff and stuff about things. Tearing my body apart for the sake of making clones.

Clones. Maya. Everything going down in ruins.

I lay there flat on my back and stared up into the darkness. I wondered if the clones had backed off a little bit because I needed to rest for a little bit. And I knew Lars wanted to, too. But then again, they were clones. They went haywire after a day and neither of us knew why.

I was too tired to ruminate over it so I relaxed a little bit more. I kept picturing it on the backs of my eyelids. The blood, the guts, the bones breaking and splintering apart with each cut of those knives, everything. At least it was a dream.

I felt something brush against my foot. I figured it was just Lars' hair as it fanned out from his head, but then I felt it again, and that time I felt it on my right foot rather than my left. I opened my eyes and glanced down to my feet. Even in the darkness, I made out sight of her head and shoulders as they rose up over the edge of the bed. She had this faint silvery glow to her that wasn't too bright, but bright enough for me to realize what she was doing.

Her gaping eyes. Her hair in the form of streamers behind her head as if she was underwater or caught up in a strong breeze. Her tattered dress, which made me think of girls who went to a girl school. She raised a finger to her lips and the black holes making up her eyes bled like mascara.

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip. It was the first time I had ever really gotten a good long look at Vera, given she always spooked the hell out of me. But even just laying there, I still felt spooked within her presence. I watched her fade away into the darkness.

I was alone again with the sound of the rain on the roof and Lars snoring. And at some point, I managed to fall asleep again.


	2. save myself from me

Even though I had fallen asleep, when I awoke to the gray sunlight, I was still feeling exhausted from that dream I had had. I rolled over onto my side and let my hip poke out a bit. I felt something soft against the top of my foot.

I shifted my foot a bit and Lars grunted in his throat.

“You okay down there?” I whispered to him.

“Yeah—ouch. I couldn't hardly sleep last night—you kept kicking me in the back of the head.”

“Well,” I started with a clearing of my throat, “if it makes you feel any better, man, I had the worst dream last night.”

“Really?”

I opened my eyes and lifted my head to look down at him. He hoisted himself up onto his right elbow.

“Yeah, I dreamed I was in that warehouse. You know, the one down in the City?” My voice was low and full, lower than my low registers while I'm singing, and the back of my throat felt dry.

“Oh, how could I forget,” he assured me.

“Well, I dreamed I was in there and this doctor and a nurse were slicing me apart from my stomach outward.”

He wrinkled his nose at that.

“Jesus. How did they go about that, mind me asking?”

“Knives for fingers—and the fact I was practically gushing blood and whatnot everywhere didn't really help matters, either. A substantial wound and yet even that wouldn't put me to sleep.”

“Knives for fingers?” Lars chuckled at that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, right?”

He laughed at that. He lay his head back down on that little couch pillow I had given him.

I rested a hand on my belly, which still felt very warm from laying underneath the blankets, but I could feel the hunger burgeoning inside of me. I turned my head back towards the nightstand and the sight of my clock. I couldn't see it worth anything and thus I rolled over onto my back again.

Six thirty in the morning.

“So early,” I remarked.

“But it's so light out, though,” he pointed out with a stretching of his arms over his head.

“You wanna get up, though?” I offered him.

“Eh, I don't see why not. We can make ourselves some breakfast.”

“Besides, I'm gonna see if I can play a li'l round of hockey today with my buddies...” I lifted myself up from my bed and I was greeted by a sudden rush of cold air inside of the room.

“In this weather?” he asked with a crack in his voice.

“Yeah.” I climbed out of bed and rested my bare feet on the carpet, to where chills shot up my legs and up my spine. I couldn't get a sweatshirt on quicker; a sweatshirt plus my pajama bottoms, it was that kind of day for me unless I could go out and do stuff with ice skates.

“Are you sure, man?” he asked me once I had the sweatshirt pulled over my head and my shoulders.

“Lars, I've played in the rain before. When I was going semi-pro, I would play no matter what the day brought us. We're like mail carriers, all us hockey players.”

He groaned inside of his throat as he lifted himself up out of bed and followed my suit in putting his pants on and getting warm again.

“So what do you think you are going to have?” he asked me as he hitched up his britches.

“What, for breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe just some toast and some coffee. I have some sourdough bread in the kitchen and like two eggs, but that's about it. It's not enough to make you sump'n.”

“Well, if you are going to play hockey, you should perhaps eat a little more than just a piece of toast.” He ran his fingers through his smooth long hair. “I will make you something, Joey.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Joey, where you are a hockey player, I am a tennis player. Yes, even as big and full as I am now. You and I, we are athletes. We must eat and save ourselves. Nourish ourselves and our bodies. If you are going to be playing a full hockey game, you have gotta have something to eat, man. Much like what you were telling me last night. You fed me so it only makes sense that I return the favor to you. You said you just have bread and eggs in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Where are my shoes?”

“They're in the livin' room. Lars, you shouldn't have to...”

“I insist, Joey. Like I said, it is only fair to you to return the favor.” He passed me and made his way into the front room to pick up his boots and put them on right there on the couch. I pressed my hands to my hips as I watched him lace them up. He then stood to his feet and made his way to the front door to fetch his coat.

“I will make you the works when I get back,” he told me as he adjusted the lapels and slipped his hair out from underneath the back collar. “I promise.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do until then?”

“Make a pot. Drink and enjoy your coffee, my friend. If somebody calls, answer them. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, and if you do, name it after me.”

With nothing more to say, he wheeled around and stepped outside to the cold gray morning. I was alone there in the hallway; I folded my arms over my chest for a second before I glanced over at the thermostat on the wall.

That furnace always acted up and I never liked sleeping with the heat switched on, either. The thing clicked and ticked a few times and then it made a low growl as it switched on.

But I still felt the chill from the remnants of the night.

I shivered and rubbed my upper arms some more. Lars was right.

I made my way into the kitchen to whip up a fresh pot of coffee for myself and also for him when he returned. I pushed the button when I felt something brush against me. I turned to find Mr. Lang floating there next to me.

His sunken eyes gazed on at me from underneath brooding silvery eyebrows, and the withered skin on his face sank down like the old skin on goalie mitts. His hair shone like silver, even though the sole light came from the gray outside through the blinds behind him. The tatters making up his Army jacket streamed behind him as if he stood in a stiff breeze. His feet dissipated into nothing down by the floor and his hands resembled the bone models you'd see in like science class. The old man who lived with me and always managed to say more than a few words to me. Of the four ghosts who lived with me, he was the only one I knew of who actually spoke to me and had a fuller appearance: he and Nerissa, I could see in their full form even in the darkness of night.

“Hey, Mr. Lang,” I greeted him.

“Hello, son,” he whispered to me; his voice sounded as though he stood about a mile away down a metal tube, “who was that boy here with you?”

“Who, Lars? What about him?”

“It's nice to know that you have a fellow to befriend in this time.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I know I can never have too much help,” I told him.

“You simply can't.” As he faded in and out of sight, I watched him reach into his jacket pocket for something, but he didn't take anything out from under there.

“There is something on your mind,” he said to me. I swallowed. I wasn't sure what he meant by that.

“Something that happened while you were slumbering.”

“Oh, that. Oh. I—uh, I kinda had a bad dream about being sliced apart. Sliced apart while I was still alive. Like I was like lunch meat or sump'n.”

“That happened to me after the War.”

“You?” I was taken aback by that.

“I came home and my body was torn to shreds. Just like lunch meat. I insisted that they would kill us all, but they cut out my tongue.”

“Hence why you can talk,” I figured; it made sense to me. If they cut out his tongue, then his spirit would carry over with his voice so he could speak on the other side.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

I looked over my shoulder to ensure I was alone in the apartment. Just me and Mr. Lang.

“No, they cut out my tongue after I was done for.”

“What'd they do it for then? That's kinda overkill.”

“I wish I knew, son. But they removed my tongue and replaced it with a silver one. I watched them do it as I hung in the rafters overhead.”

“And—why are you telling me this?”

“I have been watching you, that other boy, and the boys who betrayed you. Every step of the way. If either of you find yourselves in a dead end of sorts, know that I will be here awaiting for you.”

“That's very nice of you, Mr. Lang.” I had nothing more than that.

“By the way—I haven't heard you sing in a while. When you got the position with them, you sang like a bird. Where is the spirit within you?”

I frowned and lowered my gaze to the floor.

“The boys who betrayed you,” he concluded.

“I guess. But it's hard to walk away from that, especially since I saved their necks. I forgive them and I'm not one to hold a grudge, but I don't really buy it, especially since after Lars and I came home, we barely got a 'good night.'”

“You saved them—let them figure out how to thank you.”

“But how am I supposed to do that?”

He didn't answer me. Instead, he faded out into the shadows, into nothing. I rubbed my eyes to ensure I wasn't hallucinating.

“Mr. Lang?” I said aloud, and the coffee maker made its ringing noise to tell me it was done. I fetched up a sigh and I turned to the cabinet behind me for a mug. I poured myself a cup and doubled back into the living room. I sank down in my recliner, right next to the phone, with the mug cradled in my hands. Lars told me to enjoy my coffee.

 _Slow down, Joe. Enjoy your coffee. Enjoy your cup of Joe. Lars'll be back with some stuff to make you something_.

I brought the mug to my mouth for a sip.

Warm and smooth, just how I like it.

I caught the sound of rain on the roof once again. Perfect.

I held the mug in two hands and rested it upon my waist. I leaned my head back against the top of the chair cushion; I felt my curls brush against the sides of my neck.

Let them figure out how to thank me, what Mr. Lang said to me. They need to figure it out for themselves; I can't do it. I wish there was a way I could, though. I wish there was something I could do about it.

I let the coffee warm me up from the inside. I closed my eyes and kept my hands pressed to my waist. I sighed through my nose.

The whole place was silent save for the rain on the roof.

He also told me he hadn't heard me sing in that front room for a while. He was right, too. I hadn't sang something in there for a while because I was always out on the road or in the studio, and after I had been let go from Anthrax, it was hard to even so much as think that. But I was obviously thinking it so I didn't know what I was trying to convince myself of. There was a part of me that wanted to splash a little of that coffee on my face, but then again, it'd be a waste of coffee. I also foresaw it hurting.

I cleared my throat and then I took another sip of coffee so it would clear me up a bit.

“ _I'm a wheel, I'm a wheel_ ,” I started out in a low, whispery voice, “ _I can roll, I can feel, and you can't stop me turning_.” I cleared my throat and raised my tone a little bit more. “' _Cause I'm the sun, I'm the sun_.” I let myself breathe down inside of my belly and I leaned my head back to feel myself better. “ _I can move, I can run_ _b_ _ut you'll never stop me burning. Come down with fire; lift my spirit higher... someone's screaming my name. Come and make me holy again_!”

I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling over me. The cottage cheese holding back the onslaught of rain out there. Somehow, by some black magic, Mr. Lang had wriggled his way into my mind like a worm. A wormy ghost. A ghostly worm. Ghostly worms on my throne on the silver mountain.

The front door swung open right then and I lifted my head to find Lars staggering into the apartment: he cradled a brown paper sack in his arms. I set the cup of coffee on the table next to me to help him.

“Got all kinds of fresh fruit and some mix to make Belgian waffles,” he informed me with a big goofy grin upon his face.

“Oh, boy!” I declared as I shut the door behind him. He stumbled into the kitchen and placed it on the counter next to the coffee maker.

“So you're gonna give me the works?” I recalled.

“Absolutely! A little piece of sourdough toast won't suffice, Joey. I know how to make what's known as a European breakfast. I also got some sausage and potatoes for hash browns. Because it's just not that, a European breakfast, without all the carbs, fat, and protein you can ask for, darling Joseph.”

“Sounds like a heart attack on a plate—I'll take whatever you got for me, Lars.”

Indeed, I watched over his shoulder as he cooked it up for me. Given I didn't have a waffle iron, he was courteous enough to make a small stack of them on a skillet, plus some hash browns. At one point, I returned to my chair for another sip of coffee before it got too cold.

Soon that whole apartment was filled up with that nice aroma of meat and potatoes cooking on a pair of skillets. Meat and potatoes. I thought back to that dream I had had the night before. The part where the blades tore into my intestines made my skin itch. For some reason, that was the one part I thought of the most and recalled the clearest.

Even though it wasn't real, I could still feel those blades through me. Right through my flesh and my organs. Sawing through my bones. Destroying me. Destroying me for the sake of making something else when I wasn't ready to go yet.

And yet I was about to eat meat and potatoes.

Huh.

There was a part of me that wanted to relax on that couch myself across the room, given I woke up still feeling tired. Maybe if I eat something hearty like what Lars promised, I'll fall asleep right there on the couch for a little nap of sorts. But then again, I probably had hockey that day: I couldn't afford a nap just yet. Or maybe I could, whatever.

But I stood to my feet and doubled back into my bedroom to put my jeans on just in case. I then returned and made my way to the couch, albeit with my coffee in one hand. I set the mug down on the floor down beneath the couch, and then I lay down flat on my back with my head on the other pillow and my feet on the arm on the other side. I then reached down for my mug and took another sip.

Within a couple of minutes, Lars stepped into the room with a big plate of all that food he had promised.

“Good position you have put yourself, Joey,” he remarked as he handed it to me. “I hope you're hungry.”

“Famished,” I told him as I held the plate upon my stomach and gazed on at what he had made for me: a big helping of hash browns which he had accompanied with a good drizzling of fresh homemade gravy, a few patties, a small stack of those handmade Belgian waffles—which were of good size and drizzled with a fine bit of syrup and butter. “Oh, boy. Thank you, Lars!”

He flashed me a wink as he handed me a fork. I was eager to dive head first into it and take a bite of everything first before I moved to one side of the plate. The waffles were light and fluffy: he didn't overdo it with the syrup or the butter. The browns were perfect and crispy; like the waffles, he gave them the right amount of that light brown gravy. I mopped up a little bit of it with a bite of sausage patty every so often for some more flavor. I felt like a kid having breakfast at my grandparents' house: I felt like a little boy again especially when the thought of my grandma returned to my mind.

Every bite was bliss. Everything was warm and perfect, even as I neared the other side of the plate and I watched it all dwindle away.

It snuck up on me, but once I finished the rest of the waffles, I looked down at my stomach. I felt like I had been strapped down to an operating table. I never ate so much, and I had had a few helpings of lasagna at my mom's house more than once. He made me a lot of food and it was showing itself to me. Speak of the devil, he stood in the doorway of the kitchen with his arms folded over his chest and a smirk on his face.

I felt tight and heavy, even though it wasn't exactly showing on me. I kept my plate on my chest as I sank further down on the couch cushion. Every breath was short, but worth it. Lars gave me a lot and yet I needed it.

“That was a lot, wasn't it?” he joked with me.

“My eyes were bigger than my stomach. Holy shit.” I let out a low whistle and set one hand down on my stomach: warm and toasty, and snug even from underneath my sweatshirt. “I'm glad I was laying down the whole time, too. Jesus.”

“Indulge, Joey,” Lars coaxed me. “It's just you and me here so let go for a little bit.”

“Sounds good by me—” The waist band of my jeans felt snug from eating so much. He was once again right. I reached down to undo the button. I let it unfasten and I let my waist hang out from behind it. I felt myself swell up a little bit more now that the pressure was off. I leaned my head back and relaxed every inch of my body. I didn't think I was about to take a nap but I was about to change my mind right there.

“Let me take this,” Lars offered; he strode over to me to take the plate off of my chest. He picked it off of me and almost burst out laughing right there at the sight of it. “Man, you ate the whole thing!”

“It was just so good,” I told him as I felt my eyelids getting heavy. “And it was way too kind of you, too. Damn—” I then shook my head to keep myself awake.

“Here—” He stooped down for my cup of coffee. He handed it to me like he was my mom giving me a glass of water while I was feeling sick. I took a sip of coffee.

Hit the spot right on the head.

“Just a word of warning,” he added before he strode back into the kitchen “—since it's so hearty, I wouldn't do much of anything at the moment.”

“Way ahead of you,” I assured him as I slid down a little more and ran my fingers through my curls. I held my mug in my right hand and kept my left hand on my stomach; I raised my left knee up a little bit so I could have more room there on the couch.

“Joey, you should see yourself right now,” Lars remarked with the smirk still on his face. “Totally sweet looking and the unzipped pants really add the finishing touch.”

“I feel it,” I said to him as my eyelids sank closed. I let my fingers caress over the real soft part of my belly, right near the waist of my jeans: the skin there felt extra soft and smooth.

“No, but I'm serious, Joey—you look so fucking cute right now I can't fucking take it.”

I opened my eyes and rolled my head over to look at him.

“You can't fucking take it?” I asked him as I stifled down a belch in my throat.

“Not even a little bit,” he scoffed. “You're a really cute guy, Joey. And seein' you here it's—it's—” His eyes careened over my body laying there on the couch. I noticed his looking at my legs, especially my one knee raised up over the couch cushions.

“It's?” I finished for him.

“Gah!” Lars sauntered out of there and into the kitchen. I took another sip of coffee. I knew I would have to get up at one point. But I needed to relax for the time being.

I closed my eyes again and held the mug to my chest again. There wasn't much left in there at the bottom, but I was taking his suggestion to heart. I needed to relax and let myself indulge a little bit.

There was a knock on the door but it didn't faze me in the least. Lars was kind enough to open the door and let in a bit of the cold outside. I had no idea who was there, but I could hear him speaking to them. Everything in the middle of my body was warm and silky: it was a feeling I didn't want to go away even when I finally did get up from the couch.

“The man's punch drunk and silly right now,” he said at one point, which prompted me to open my eyes and finish the rest of my coffee in one fell swoop.

“Like I had been punched to the point of being drunk—” I raised my head to see who was at the door. I recognized his heavy, solidly built body, already clothed in his jersey and a parka; he had his skates slung over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey, Brick!” I called out, and he poked his head inside, past Lars' head.

“Hey, Joe—” He chuckled a little bit at the sight of me. “—what happened to you?”

“Just ate a shitload of breakfast. How you doin'?”

“Just wanted to see if you wanted to play a round today.”

“Oh, yeah, man—I'd be more than happy to. Just—y'know. Let me finish out my coffee and put my shoes on.”

“Take your time, man. There's no rush. Really, there's no rush.”

I took a final sip from my mug and then I took a glimpse down at myself. Careful not to make myself dizzy, I swung my legs over the edges of the cushions and sat upright on the couch. I tugged down my shirt but I kept my jeans undone. I ran my fingers through my curls again and I took another glance over at Lars and Brick, both of whom looked as though they would burst out laughing at any second.

“It's not that funny,” I scoffed.

“You look like a li'l boy, though, sometimes, Joe,” Brick remarked with a chuckle. “Between the hair and the way you were layin' there—”

I set both hands on either side of my hips and I tried to get up. It weighed me down from the inside. I tried again. I'm a skinny guy and yet it was hard to even so much as stand up from those tenderized couch cushions.

“Need some help?” Lars offered.

“All I can get,” I said with a sigh. “Mr. Chubs-ish.”

“Chubs-ish?” He giggled at that as he made his way over to me.

“Yeah. You're chubs-ish. You're chubby but not entirely. Chubs-ish.”

He raised an eyebrow at me as he extended a hand. I took his warm hand with both of mine and I almost lost my balance standing up to my feet. I clutched my belly with one hand and steadied myself. By some black magic, my jeans still clung onto my hips.

“Right,” he said as he wiped his hands and then pressed them onto his hips, “I'm the chubby one.”

“Hang tight, Brick—I've gotta put my shoes on.”

I almost rolled into my room to fetch my black Chucks, which were still pristine from not wearing them so much in my time with Anthrax. Even sitting on the edge of my bed to put them on proved to be slightly difficult given the big cumbersome feeling inside of my stomach: at one point, I stopped with my hands on either side of me on the mattress and let my belly hang out a little bit from behind my unfastened jeans. I ate too much, and I had no idea if I was going to continue going forth and play hockey.

I was already exhausted... from doing nothing.

I let out a low whistle and bent forward to tie up the laces, and everything hung in between my thighs. I then sat upright and ran my fingers through my hair again. I pushed myself up onto my feet and made my way over to the closet to fetch my skates, my jersey, and my coat. I wondered if Lars would be joining us because I couldn't see him doing anything more than just sitting around here and doing nothing.

I slipped my long black overcoat on over my body, and rebuttoned my jeans, and gave my stomach a sweet little pat. It was the most I could do at that moment. I scooped up my skates and slung my jersey over my shoulder, and then I headed back out.

“Would you like to come along?” I offered Lars, who reached for his overcoat which he had slung over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“I don't see why not,” he replied with a shrug of the shoulders. He slung it around his body and it dwarfed him almost instantaneously: such a big bulky thing that looked like how I felt on the inside at that moment.

“I mean, there's not much else around here to do other than watch TV and read a couple of books I've got in my room. I'm a broke bastard so it's not like I can splurge much on stuff I wanna do.”

“You ain't that broke, Joe,” Brick insisted.

“I am! But you might as well, you know?”

“Absolutely!” said Lars.

I swiped my keys and locked the door behind the three of us. The warm feeling inside my stomach kept me warm against the cold lake effect winds as we made our way to Brick's car parked near the curb. I knew it would probably rain again, but when was beyond me. I glanced to my left to see that van again; the same one where Lars and I found Maya strapped to the back of that one time. I still couldn't believe no one caught us or questioned us, or even saw her for that matter, and there was a part of me that wondered if there was a small pocket of time in which we found ourselves in. A stroke of luck of sorts, because it was in the middle of the day.

Brick and I slipped our skates and our jerseys into the trunk of his car, and I swore out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maya stuck to a tree on the far side of the property. Indeed, I lifted my head to see what was over there: nothing there but said tree and a trash can. But I swore I saw a glimmer of bright blue neon.

I flashed back on that night down in the City where the heart of Manhattan was covered in that webby messy... stuff. I didn't even know what it was, and I didn't think for a second that Scott, Frankie, Charlie, or Lars himself wanted to figure it out for themselves, either. I climbed into the back seat behind Lars and Brick, and I buckled down in that soft smooth upholstery. I was feeling warm right then, and I didn't want the feeling to go away, either.

But at some point, I needed to climb out and put on the skates, and go forth. The whole way there, I relished every moment I was in that warm back seat right behind Lars. I kept my hands stuffed into my coat pockets and I tried to think of “Man on the Silver Mountain” again to keep my rhythm when I set foot on the ice. Or something fast! Something quick and rhythmic.

I tried to think of Judas Priest or a Ramones song, but it was useless, especially since all Brick and Lars wanted to do was chat the whole trip to the rink. It wasn't that long of a drive there, either.

That rink had about an inch of freshly glazed ice crystals covering the actual ice bank down inside there, and I knew it was about to be even icier once the rain started falling upon us. There was a small wooden shed on the closest side of the rink, where the walls were lined with hooks: the place we would hang up our coats and lace up the skates, and not to mention, gear up. We work hard: we play hard.

Lucky for me, I had digested enough to stoop over and take off my Chucks and put on my skates. I peeled off my coat and hung it up on the wall next to me. I put on my jersey, which hung off of my body like an empty potato sack, but it allowed me to move around. I gave my hair a toss over my shoulder before I tied it back and put my mask on over my head; and I was about to head out to the ice when something caught my ear. I looked to my left to find a single little songbird in a tree near the closest edge of the rink.

A plain looking little brown bird with a kiss of yellow on the underside of its tail that, with every open of its black beak, let out a little melody for us. In a way, I kind of was like a songbird: a guy who brings his voice to the table and brings it all to life. Brick skirted up to me with a hockey stick in one hand, for me.

“Ready?” he asked me.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” I assured him as I took the stick and gave him a fist bump.


	3. relentless

I hadn't played the role of goalie in so long it seemed. It was quite the adjustment given I had eaten so much so soon earlier, but I was determined to keep myself afloat there on the ice inside of the net. I clutched the hockey stick. I bent my knees. I let the food in my belly fuel me as well as keep my balance.

The skinny guy was making himself look as big as possible. There ain't nothing getting past me. No way, no how.

My gloved fingers rounded the stick part of the actual stick and I bowed my head. The crown of hair atop my head fluttered in the cold winds. I had the whole entire mane tied behind my head with a little black tie. I was the boss. There was no one going past me. The puck, maybe on the outside, but not into the actual net.

Brick, given he was so big and heavy, heavier than me, proved to be quite agile and it always surprised me that that was the case, too. The first time he and I played a round of hockey together with several more of our friends like during that very round, I was stunned by how fast he moved about the ice. Like a big bulky ghost thanks to his pearly white jersey. He even stunned Lars, who stood on the far side of the rink with his arms folded upon the top of the wall and gazed on at us with his eyes wide with amazement.

He swung his stick up a bit and fired into the other net.

“That's how you do it!” I declared from behind my mask.

I bowed down again and buckled my knees to steady myself over the ice. At some point, I was going to find my way into a studio and make some time for myself. I would have to lay down some drum tracks and then ask around for a guitar player. I always liked hearing people play because I could never do it myself. I never foresaw being a guitar hero, but I always wanted to sing or drum for one.

The little orange punk fired past the outside edge of the net behind me; I was quick to duck out from it to fetch it for myself. The damned thing kept on moving along the wall.

Empty goal post, I know, I know. This thing went way out, though! Well towards the wall!

But I caught up with it and slid down onto my knee pad. I raised the stick and took a swing. My stomach still feeling very full and wanting to hang out from behind my jeans or not, I managed to catch this thing and fire it towards Billy and his offense position. I shot ahead with three swipes of my skates, much to Lars' amazement.

“Holy shit, dude!” he shrieked with his voice echoing over the ice. “You can run fast!”

“Don't underestimate the goalies, my Danish friend,” I assured him with a smirk even with my mask over my face. I glided my way back to the net with the mits down by my hips.

I had to fetch the puck again. Twice.

“You guys really need to stop hitting it so hard,” Lars suggested as I made my way towards the far side of the rink a fourth time.

I spotted a woman on the other side of the wall: she looked as though she had just arrived there. I recognized her black hair behind her head: I took a second look to find it down inside of her coat, probably to protect it from the cold. Her full cherry lips glistened in the gray morning light and the blush on her face bloomed with the cold. I recognized her shapely body as it was covered underneath her white parka: she was brazen enough to wear a little hot pink mini skirt covered in sequins even on a chilly morning like this. I skirted up to her and she grinned at me once I lifted the mask from my face.

“Cindy!” I declared in a broken voice.

“Hi!” She puckered her lips at me and then blew a kiss: I noticed she had painted her nails a fiery scarlet red.

“Um, I can't really talk right now,” I told her as I moved in closer to her, but I was really moving in closer to fetch the puck from the edge of the wall.

“It's okay—I just got here. Take your time.”

“Good to know,” I assured her with a lopsided smirk. I took the puck out of the corner there with the head of the stick; I noticed her showing me her tongue.

“You sure do know how to work a stick,” she remarked as I took a swipe at the puck and sent it flying down the ice.

“So do you,” I told her before I lowered my mask and glided away from her. I wasn't ready for some ass as of yet, but she still owed me and Lars a round of strip chess. I knew Scott, Frankie, and Charlie wanted in on the fun themselves. But I had my hope that I could have a little rendezvous with Cindy after the game here. Lars and Brick could join in if they so wished.

I shot forward with the stick extended in front of me. Goalie or not, there was a part of me that wanted to show off a little bit for her.

I reached the puck and nudged it forward, right past the net. I hunkered down before the front of the net itself with my legs spread and my ass in the air. Sure, I looked funny but Cindy was right behind me and she was looking at me straight on. Standing like that also helped me have better navigation of the stick. Like I was stirring butter, even with Lars showing me a funny look the whole time.

Our side won that little match: it was nothing fancy, just a bunch of friends playing a round of hockey together on a cold day, which beats the hell out of taking a cold shower on a cold day. I peeled off my mask and doubled back to Cindy, who didn't move from her spot there behind the wall.

“How ya doin'?” I called out to her as I hoisted the hockey stick over my shoulder.

“Chilly,” she replied.

“Hey, Cindy!” Lars called out from behind me. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

“Maybe the three of us can do a li'l hanky panky after lunch,” I suggested.

“Three of us?” Lars teased me once he came within earshot. “Why not bring Brick and your buddies into this?”

“That'd be a little awkward, though,” Cindy pointed out. “Especially without asking 'em first.”

I stuck out my pinky finger and my thumb and brought it to my ear.

“Hey, Dad, is Mom around? Oh, nothing—I've just gone out raping,” I sputtered out, which made the both of them laugh out so loud; their laughter echoed over the ice. Brick scurried over to us with his face flustered and his jersey slightly damp from skating around on the ice.

“You three amigos wanna join us over at the Denny's for some lunch?” he offered us.

“Oh, yes, please,” I told him as I peeled my mask off of my head. I then turned to Cindy and Lars. “As is tradition, after a hockey game, we go over to Denny's for sump'n to eat, be it dinner or breakfast. The two of you wanna join us?”

“I'd love to,” said Cindy.

“And I wouldn't mind having something myself, too,” Lars chimed in, to which he stifled another belch. He bowed his head as if he was about to puke but he never did. She raised an eyebrow at him and then at me. I shrugged and then he lifted his head to face us.

“Sorry. Let's boogie.”

Once we all had taken off our skates and changed back into our regular street clothes, but I didn't feel like changing out of my jersey given I had just washed it, Brick drove the three of us to that little Denny's, which was about a block away from Black Orchid, which meant afterwards Cindy could take Lars and me there for a little round of fun and whatnot. I was eager to have a big hearty sandwich and some fries and a big chocolate milkshake with whipped cream on top, but I was even more eager for what waited for us up ahead. While I drank down the shake, I thought back to that encounter in Syracuse. I knew that was the beginning of something, like it alluded to something up ahead of me, and ahead of Cindy herself. I tried to think ahead, like what she had in store for the two of us.

Surely, it would be something amazing.

Indeed, once we had finished up and I swore I had gained five pounds in my hips, Cindy beckoned Lars and me to the next block over. Even in the frigid New York cold, she was brazen enough to don that miniskirt and those high heels, too.

“Don't do anything we wouldn't do, Joe,” was the last thing Brick told me with a grin on his face.

“Of course, of course,” I said, and I hurried ahead to catch up with her and Lars. Those stilettos crunched along the damp sidewalk.

It was only a block but I could feel myself wanting to do it right then and there. I reached down to adjust the band on my jeans but it was useless. That itch I couldn't scratch—and the fact I was right behind her didn't help anything, either. There was a part of me that wanted to touch her ass but at that point, we had reached the front step of the strip joint.

“So we're gonna have a little game of sorts?” Lars recalled; he held the door for her into the intimate lit front corridor: I was met by the combined aroma of Jager and perfume even there on the front step.

“Yes, we are!” Cindy proclaimed as she peered over her shoulder at me. Lars shut the door and she pressed her body to me. Her chest pressed against my own; I could feel her body warming up against my own. It helped that I had just eaten my weight in breakfast and lunch today, and thus I was extra warm myself.

“Yeah, baby boy—you're gonna get it so good, baby,” she assured me. She let her parka fall off of her body and I could catch a whiff of the perfume wafting off of her neck and shoulders. Her skin was clean and clear, like fresh porcelain. My jeans felt even tighter than they did before then.

“Shall I grab a chair?” Lars offered with a bit more chirp to his voice than normal.

“Grab a couple, baby,” Cindy told him, but she never took her eyes off of me. I watched him go off to the left to fetch a couple of chairs. She showed me her tongue and then she held onto my arm, and she guided me towards the front room. We got to the doorway; I raised my gaze to find, circled around a low small black cherry colored table right smack in the middle of the room and underneath the yellow light on the ceiling, wrapped up in their little black wind breakers—

“Scott!” I said, to which Cindy showed me a puzzled look upon her face. “Charlie! Frankie!”

“Joey!” Frankie declared with his eyebrows raised.

“Frankie!” Charlie insisted, stunned.

“Charlie—” Scott was cut off by a slight dry sounding cough.

“Scott,” Charlie added.

“Charlie,” said Frankie.

“Frankie,” said Charlie; meanwhile, I rolled my eyes and reached for the light switch. I flicked it several times so they were in the dark and in light for about a second each. The three of them looked at me, also as puzzled as Cindy.

“Are ya done?” I asked them.

“Yeah... sure,” said Scott as he fixed the collar of his shirt.

“Anyways, what're you guys doin' here? I thought you went back down to the City.”

The three of them glanced at each other with grave looks upon their faces.

“We've got nowhere to go, Joey,” Scott explained in a low voice. “Charlie, Frankie, and I—yeah, we're—we're—”

“We're pretty much homeless,” Frankie finished for him.

“We know you just have your place,” Charlie added, “like it's just you there. So we didn't want to ask you.”

“Well, shit,” I remarked as I pressed my hands to my hips. “We could'a at least figured sump'n out. D'you at least call John?”

“Johnny Zazu's not picking up and neither is Martha,” Scott grimly told me. “It's like the studio burned down, we got kicked out of our places all at the same time, and then the two of them bounced outta New York all within a matter of couple of days. Guess this whole thing with the industry going sideways is more potent than we thought...”

“The Bush man, I mean.”

“Him, too! Charlie was the last person he talked to.”

“And what'd he say?” I asked Charlie.

“He said 'guess what? Chicken butt.'”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I shit you not, Joey. That's what he said to me.”

“Angeline can't do anything about it, either,” Frankie added. “She called me last night—she's over in Boston right now so there's nothing she can do.”

“Wow,” I remarked.

Lars strode up to us right then with a spindly black chair in either hand. He sat them both down before the table at the same time and gave his fine hair a toss back.

“Have a seat,” he told Cindy and me.

“Gladly,” she replied with a puckering of her cherry lips.

“What about you—little lion man?” I asked him; that comment brought a chuckle out of Frankie.

“There's another one over there,” he assured me with a nod back to the other side of the room. “So relax, Joseph.”

I fetched up a sigh and did just that, right in between Cindy and Scott. I noticed a square checkerboard in the middle of the table, one consisted of cold black and golden wooden squares. I wondered what the chess pieces looked like as I lowered my gaze to the drawer right in front of her knees.

“I hope this won't be too controversial,” she began with a toss of her black hair over her shoulder.

“I ain't everyone's cup of liquidized Injun,” I teased her and the three of them burst out laughing.

“But I think we're going to have to do this in teams of three given there are six of us,” she continued, nonplussed. Lars dragged a third chair in between me and Cindy, and plopped down hard on the seat. He stripped off his coat, but then he hesitated.

“Do you think I should keep it on?” he suggested to her.

“What, your coat?”

“Yes.”

“If you want, baby.”

Lars nibbled on his bottom lip for a second. And then he reached behind him to put the coat back on. I showed him a sideways little smile.

“Alright, let's get this party started,” Cindy said with those cherry lips glimmering bright under the intimate light. “Could one of you boys be a dear and grab my parka for me, please?”

Charlie scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the front door for her parka, which lay on the floor. She reached before her to the drawer and slid it open. I watched her take out the chess pieces: a set of black ones which, when held up to the light had this reddish tint to them; Cindy referred to them as “black candy apples”. I held up the king and I thought of black cherries, or a jar of cherry and apple jam, like a candied apple, albeit one with blackened caramel. The other set meanwhile, consisted of that same heavy honey colored wood making up the checkerboard. Scott, Frankie, and I helped her set up the board; Charlie returned with her coat just in time with her parka cradled in his arms.

He was even kind enough to put it back on for her!

“Team Wood and Team Apple,” Scott remarked as he scooted closer to Frankie and Charlie. “Sounds good by me!”

“Alright, so the rules are as follows,” she began as she adjusted the lapels of her parka. “The same rules to chess apply—pawns move one spot forward only, and when they take out another piece it has to be in the same color square diagonal from it; rooks move in straight lines, either forward or backward; knights move in 'L' shapes, either forward or backward; bishops move in diagonals, either forward or backward; kings and queens, on the other hand, do whatever they please. Whenever a major chess piece is taken off of the board, be it a rook or a bishop—or better yet, the king and queen—someone on the other team has to strip one article of clothing. Two rooks, two knights, two bishops, a king, and a queen. We really have nothing to lose but our clothes.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” said Lars with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ladies first,” Frankie beckoned her with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, honey boy?” Cindy teased him, which brought a giggle out of both me and Lars.

“Honey boy!” Charlie laughed at that.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Frankie offered her, to which he raised his fist.

“Draw cards,” Scott suggested.

“That's for choosing beds, not which side to go first,” Lars pointed out.

I peered over my shoulder to find the bar right behind us. There was a bottle of root beer on one edge of it there—as far as I knew, nobody claimed it. I stood to my feet and ambled over to it, and swiped it. I pried off the bottle cap and held out the actual bottle from me so the foam from it wouldn't get on my jacket or my jersey. Using my free hand, I moved the cap onto the back of my thumb.

“Heads, or top of the cap, it's Wood—tails, or the pointy edges, it's Apple,” I told them, and I flicked the bottle cap straight up into the air. We watched it fly up in a straight line, but then it came down on the table, right next to Cindy. It fell onto the floor; Scott craned his neck down for a look.

“Heads,” he declared.

“It bounced off the table, though,” Frankie pointed out, “doesn't count.”

“Yeah, but it's heads,” Scott insisted.

“Still bounced off the table, though,” Lars joined in.

“Yeah, if it bounced off anything in a hockey rink, they'd ask for a do-over,” I chimed in.

“Same with baseball,” said Frankie.

“And tennis!” Lars chirped.

“It's still heads, though!” Scott insisted.

“Scott, you're dealin' with three guys who play sports, you might as well listen,” Charlie said in a single breath. Scott fetched up a sigh.

“Okay.” He reached underneath the table to pick up the cap from the floor; meanwhile, I took a drink of the root beer. I had no idea how long it had been sitting there on the counter, but it was still cold and crisp. Fresh, too, like it had come straight out of the root beer factory place. Granted, I had had a milkshake not long before, but I wasn't going to let them bicker over something as pithy as who went first in a game of strip chess. Once I had taken my seat at the table again, Scott set the bottle cap on the back of his thumb. He flicked it up into the air and then held out his hand before him. He caught it and curled his fingers over it.

“Which is it?” asked Charlie. He opened his hand to show the smooth top of the cap.

“Those pointy edges hurt, too,” he remarked as he set the cap down on the table in front of him.

“Okay, now which of us are going to move out the pawns first?” asked Frankie.

“I think the tossers should go first,” Charlie suggested.

“Scott will start and then Frankie and Charlie will follow suit,” Lars added. “I think we should do that, too, but beginning with Joey.”

Scott held onto the head of the wooden pawn in front of the king and slid it forward one square. I took a drink of root beer and moved the pawn before the queen one square. Frankie followed with the next pawn forward; Cindy followed suit; then Charlie and Lars. I nibbled on my bottom lip as Scott moved out another pawn before me.

“Only pawns,” he muttered once our rows of eight pawns were moved out one square each: each one was two squares apart from the opposing side. Charlie eyed the black candy apple pieces in anticipation. Lars watched him with intent.

“Your move, Char,” said Scott as he shifted his weight in his seat.

“I know—I'm just thinking.”

“Remember, pawns are pawns,” Cindy reminded us. “It's only when the big pieces in the back get involved is when the clothes come flying off.”

Charlie sighed through his nose and moved out the one before the king one more square, which meant Lars could knock out that pawn from a diagonal with one of ours.

And he did.

“I knew that was gonna happen,” said Charlie as he leaned back in his seat. Scott then swooped in with a taking of that one black candy apple pawn from one of their wooden ones. Three squares in front of our king.

“That's your move?” asked Cindy with a hearty chuckle. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Check, gentlemen,” Scott announced with those thick eyebrows raised up, “—lady.”

“No, it's not,” Lars pointed out.

“Sure, it is,” Scott insisted. “Your king's exposed. So, check.”

“You haveta get it from an angle, though,” I told him as I took another sip of root beer. “It'd be in check if it was a bishop or a knight, but not a li'l pawn.”

That said, I reached for the knight in front of Lars and moved it in that “L” shape, and took out that pawn.

“Oh, snap!” Frankie declared as I took another sip. Their pawns were all a square away, which meant the board was a stalemate of sorts. Frankie rubbed his chin and ran his tongue along the edges of his two front teeth. Surely, it couldn't too difficult.

He moved one of the pawns forward, which brought a laugh out of Cindy.

“What's so funny?” he demanded. She held onto the horse's head of the knight and moved it in that “L” shape again. Another pawn down.

“We're losin' our men, men,” Scott told them. “Come on, Charlie—you got this.”

“I do!” Charlie held onto the pointed top of their bishop and moved it towards the knight. One of our back pieces!

“One of us has to strip now!” Cindy declared; she turned her head to Lars, who bowed his head a bit, but he knew it had to be done.

“Take it off!” Frankie chanted. “Take it off!”

Scott and Charlie joined in with claps of their hands; I set down the bottle and joined them.

Lars then stood to his feet and peeled off his coat, and draped it over the back of his chair. He sat back down and adjusted that long mane of smooth hair so that it lay over his shoulders. I took another sip as he prepared his next move: he used the other one of our bishops to take out that one wooden one.

Scott peeled off his coat and lay over the back of the chair. He then watched me with his head bowed so those dark eyebrows obscured his eyes; I moved the other knight forward. One more move and I could take out their king, meaning they were in check.

“Kinky,” he remarked in a low voice; he leaned forward for the other bishop, but he kept it behind the pawns, though.

“You know what else is kinky?” Cindy asked him.

“What's that?”

She moved the other bishop in a diagonal and took out their king in one fell swoop.

“Check mate, little boys,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Oh, shit—I totally missed that,” Scott sputtered. I raised my bottle to that and Lars burst out laughing.

“We still strip though... right?” asked Frankie.

“Please do,” she insisted.

The three of them glanced at each other; I took one more sip of root beer when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Mrs. Hamilton strode into the room right then in a black leather teddy and a lacy black skirt down to her knees. Her bob of hair glittered under the intimate light: I took a second look to see she had glitter incorporated into the roots.

“Darling, Lili,” Lars called to her. “Lili—Leila—Leela, whichever you wish to be called.”

“We've got some male strippers here, Mom,” Cindy told her; for a second, I completely forgot Mrs. Hamilton was her mother.

“Oh, boy!” she declared in that Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

Scott, Frankie, and Charlie looked at each other again before they each stood to their feet. The latter two took off their jackets and draped them over the backs of their chairs. Scott was first to remove his belt and hand it to Mrs. Hamilton; Frankie and Charlie held onto the bands of their jeans and dropped them down to their legs. All three of them peeled off their shirts in unison: Scott had that thick dark hair all over his chest while Frankie and Charlie both had bare smooth skin on their chests. I looked over at Lars, who glanced behind Cindy at me.

“Shall we?” he mouthed at me. I looked over at Mrs. Hamilton, who had one hand pressed to her hip and the other hand pressed on the edge of the table in front of me. I returned to Lars and nodded at him. He reached down and peeled off his shirt; he kept the collar of it stuck to his forehead so his hair was off of his face and his shoulders.

I didn't want to take off my jersey... but I did it anyway. I stood to my feet and lay it over the back of my chair.

“Show off,” Frankie joked.

“Yeah—my word, look at Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton commented; she dropped her gaze to my hips and thighs, and then back up to my chest and my shoulders.

I felt something grab me from behind. I looked to find Cindy coaxing me to somewhere.

I couldn't resist.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hamilton rounded the table to meet up with Lars. As I began after Cindy, I noticed Gwen and Louise entering the room from my right.

“Hey, golden boys,” I heard the former say to the three of them.

Meanwhile, Cindy led me throughout Black Orchid to the back room. The whole center of the strip club was spacious and dark enough for not just lap dances but maybe a whole show of the girls given their whole mood and aesthetic; the stages were made of heavy, dark wood and lined with little golden lights the size of quarters. A wooden cat walk lined the upper part of the walls; I spotted a row of silvery stripper poles up there, each of which looked to be suspended out in the open rather than attached to the ceiling and the floor. Right in front of us there was a closed off room with a couple of beds—actual beds, with pillows and comforters and everything. Overhead stood an intimate lit balcony with a ladder on the right side; before Cindy led me into the room, I spotted another bed up there.

“Close the door,” she commanded me. I pushed it closed with my hip and she puckered her lips at me.

“So we're gonna play around with corpses and shit?” I asked her.

“Yeah, you and I are gonna play around with corpses and shit.”

“YES!”

She brought those cherry lips to my collar bones and then moved down onto my chest and my stomach. I could feel her undoing my jeans, but I lunged for the bed in front of us. I somersaulted onto the comforter so the crown of my head was pointed at the door.

She peeled off that miniskirt and climbed on top of me.

Tendrils of her black hair caressed over my collar bones and my chest.

“You really are so sexy,” she whispered to me.

“Takes sexy to know it, baby doll,” I whispered back to her; I had no idea where that came from. She kissed my neck and my shoulders a few times before she sat upright and took her top off. Those nipples were pointed, more pointed than what was happening with me.

She scooted back a bit to peel back my jeans; I reached up to fondle those nipples some more but she swatted my hand.

“Bad boy,” she scolded me with a wag of her finger.

“But—” I begged.

“No.” She stuck out her chest at me as she undid my jeans.

And then the door opened. She gasped and lunged backwards. I tilted my head back to find Frankie and Louise there in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, Frank!” Louise shouted and she stepped away from the doorway.

It didn't help matters he was upside down to me, too.

“Frankie!” Cindy and I said in unison.

“Oh, hey—sorry, Joe and Cindy Lou Who,” Frankie stammered. “I thought you guys were goin' out to the car—”

“Get out!” I shouted.

“—the two of youses oughta put on a couple of bathrobes and pretend like you're ghosts.”

“OUT! Wait, what?”

“Yeah, pretend like you're ghosts and have a round of spiritual rendezvous.”

“Frankie, we're not goin' tantric,” I scoffed as I ran my fingers through my hair to brush it off of my shoulder and my collar bone.

“That'd be even better, though,” he continued with a wag of his finger. “Be in here for hours and hours on end until you reach the other side of the spectrum, if ya know what I mean.”

“The other side of the spectrum on the other side of the street,” I corrected, also with a wag of my finger.

“You'd have to go through that wall over there first,” he gestured to the other side of the room.

“I'd have to use both feet, though,” Cindy pointed out.

“Yeah, and talk about breakin' your ankles, too—with those stilettos of yours,” I added with a low whistle.

“Alright, I'll leave you two kids to it,” Frankie told us as he rubbed his hands together, “just keep the noise level down, y'know?”

“Of course, of course!” I proclaimed; he doubled back out of the loft and shut the door behind him. I let out another whistle. I was still erect, I could feel, but I wasn't too sure of what to do next. Cindy caressed my shaft to try and stoke the flames again, but I couldn't feel anything.

“There's a part of me that wants to take part of this here—” The tips of her fingers stroked across the tip. “—and put it around my neck for good luck. You know, like a rabbit's foot.”

“It'd be easier if you could kill me first, though,” I grumbled.

“Joey!” Cindy reached forward and slapped me right on the belly.

“Ow!”

“I'm in charge here, big boy.”

“Big boy...” I murmured as I closed my eyes.

“Yes—big boy.” I felt her clutch onto my shaft with one hand. She used the other to hold down my thigh. “This is going to get so huge.”

“And then what?” I asked her as I kept my arms outstretched on either side of me. She didn't answer.

“And then what? Cindy?” I lifted my head to find her bringing her mouth to my head for a drink and a good lick. I lay my head down on the mattress again and took in the feeling of her tongue and the inside of her mouth.

Meanwhile, above us, I could hear Lars panting. He and I was thinking... Mrs. Hamilton were going crazy up there in the loft. At least so I believed: for all I knew, he could've been doing push ups. On the bed. With Mrs. Hamilton right there next to him...

“Ow, fuck!” I yelped out. She bit me!

“Just testin' you, babe,” Cindy teased me with a lick of her lips. She brought her lips down again. I held still, but then I thought of rolling over onto my side and pushing her down. I also thought about putting on a robe and doing the ghost thing Frankie suggested. I kept thinking of it so much that it beckoned a pinch of the nipples from her.

“OUCH!”

“Joey!”

“What?” I raised my head to find tears lining her eyes.

“Sex with a stripper is better when she's cryin', y'know,” I pointed out with a wag of my finger.

“Yeah, you wish,” she snarled as she brought her lips back down to my head. But then she sank her teeth in so hard, I wasn't sure whether to cry, shriek, or laugh my other head off. I could feel myself coming even with the bites. If anything, the bites were bringing me closer to the climax.

She was right: I was a bad boy. I let go today a bit, and therefore I was a bad boy. Deserving of every iota of punishment, every bite from her teeth right on that taut skin.

But damn, it felt so good and the fact I hit that high point, that state of euphoria so quickly, only proved it to myself.


	4. do your worst

Every gyration. I could still feel every single little gyration of her hips, and of my hips, too. I could still feel that soft and wet sensation against me. Her skin and her lips. The sound that emerged from my mouth—like I was performing in front of a vast audience in a place like Yankee Stadium. The feeling left me dizzy and slack jawed.

Her sweat, her heartbeat, her everything... my everything with hers. We both choked on each other. She gulped it down, and so did I.

I lay my head down on the pillow; Cindy was kind enough to lay down next to me.

I was delirious and a hot mess. But laying in that room had given me a catharsis of sorts: my blood was flowing, my head felt light but in a sense that I could think with more clarity, and my body did not feel tired in the least.

If anything, I felt nourished. Hardy. Loved. Whole.

Even after all that had happened to me, I still managed to come out of the other side in one piece and with a girl laying next to me. Cindy put her arm around my waist and lay her head upon my chest. Her breasts brushed against my bare skin, and her nipples had long flattened out, and she kept the inside of her thigh pressed to my hip. We were bathed in that intimate light from the strip joint. The rest of the room was dim lit courtesy of the lake effect outside.

All I could hear was the sound of her breathing and Lars' grunts up above us on the balcony. The mattress up there creaked and he often followed it up with a tiny little squeak of sorts. Mrs. Hamilton made noises that resembled to little birds scrounging for food. Frankie and Charlie's laughter floated in from the next room.

Meanwhile, I rolled my head over for a look at Cindy, who seemed more intent on staring off into the space and running her fingers down my happy trail than anything. I had no idea how she managed to do the Amazon position with her feet right in front of her but she did it anyway. I had put my pants back on however I neglected to button them back up. I just wanted to lay there with no shirt on and my jeans unbuttoned.

“You know, you're a very sensual guy,” she told me as she brought her fingers to my belly button. I was still full from both lunch and breakfast.

“I try my best,” I assured her with a shake of my head.

“You do plenty, Joey—baby boy.”

“Am I still a bad boy?”

“Off the charts in terms of badness. I wanna punish you some more for it, too.” She fell back into silence for a moment, but long enough for me to hear some more creaking up in the loft up above us.

“Your mom's really goin' to town with Lars up there, isn't she?” I asked her.

“My mom doesn't mess around when it comes to messing around,” Cindy explained. “Even after Gwen and I were born, she always talked about how tight she was. She always wears lace with leather because both give her a protective barrier of sorts.”

“Ain't nuthin' sexier than a dead cow in a blender—it's my shield, bitches!” I had no idea where that came from, but it brought a laugh out of her. She buried her face right into my chest to stifle the laughter. I caught Lars making a low moan from the loft upstairs.

“Come on, Lars, the next time a girl shows you how to dosey-doe, you have to follow suit otherwise it can hurt!” Mrs. Hamilton declared. I rolled my head over for another look at Cindy, who knitted her eyebrows together at that.

“Are they dancin' up there?” I wondered aloud.

“Sounds like it. Mom's not afraid to go kinky—like you.”

“Me?” I never thought of myself in that fashion before.

“Yeah.” She showed me a little grin: that cherry gloss never left her lips even after she gave me a shitload of kisses and blew me twice. “You're a kinky bad boy, Joey.”

“How am I kinky?” I knitted my eyebrows at that.

“Well, for one—the chess,” she stated. “It's been so long since I did that—and let's not forget the first time you and I did it together here with Gwen.”

“Threesome with you and your sister,” I recalled as I gazed straight into her eyes.

“Exactly! You're naughty. A naughty boy—it just needs to be coaxed out a little bit every so often. You're very sensual and sexy...” She kept her hand on my stomach. I ran my tongue along my lips; I dropped my gaze to her chest and the curvature of her hips. Those cherry lips spread even further into a warm smile.

“That's what I'm talking about right there,” she noted.

“What?” She lifted herself up so she could see me for herself.

“You checking out my body,” she answered with a toss of her hair back behind her head and over her shoulder. “It's there—it's in there, in those brown eyes, in—this body—it's inside you. The feeling and also—everything that you are and could be.”

“You know, it's funny—I—I feel like I can do anything,” I confessed to her.

“All I know is that you're a singer, just from Mom telling me,” she confessed to me. “A hockey player, too.”

“I'm a singer, a hockey player, a drummer... and there's not much more to say.”

“Really? You're so smart, too. You saved my mom from a bunch of clones. I can see you in a place with a shitload of books or something.”

“Call me 'professor' then,” I teased her.

“But really, though—you did great at the chess game back there. You got the three of them to strip for us. You're everything, Joey. Everything and nothing. I can actually see all of you becoming like... oh, I dunno.”

“What?”

“Renaissance men,” she answered. “All of you. Renaissance men—masters of none.”

“People who are real good at a myriad of things, not just one,” I followed along as I hoisted myself up onto my elbows.

“Exactly! The fact you guys were able to figure out what was going on with the clones tells me a thing or two about your smarts.”

“But I don't feel smart, though.”

“You are, Joey. If you makes you feel any better, sometimes I don't feel very smart myself. I always surprise people with my intelligence, too, at least according to Mom and Gwen. I take my clothes off which is the dumbest thing ever in the whole wide world, you know? It's like what you said earlier: 'hey, Dad. Is Mom around? Oh, nothing—just out throwing my pants in the air for nickels and dimes.' And—hey, I also don't feel sexy at times but I still managed to do it well with you, though.”

I had no idea what to say to that. All I could think about was where and when I was going to have to fill up my cup again. And yet it was kind of a good thing that the door swung open and Lars stumbled into the room right then with a disoriented look upon his face. That time around, Cindy was facing away from the door and I was right side up, but I didn't believe for one single second that that would even faze him in the least. He staggered into the room with no pants on and a button up shirt over his body, but what amazed me was the little twirl he did before he fell ass first onto the floor next to the bed.

I craned my neck to find him laying there with his legs spread wide open and everything hanging out.

“Oh, dear, look what the cat dragged in,” Cindy remarked.

“That's—” He stifled down another belch inside of his throat. “—that's an understatement. It was unreal up there.”

“Mom's the boss for a reason,” she pointed out.

“But—holy shit. It was like I was spinning and she was moving—at the same time.”

“You and Mrs. Hamilton were having it both ways then,” I said as I propped myself up with my back up against the wall.

“Hell yeah we were,” he continued in a monotone, “I don't think I have ever had sex like that before. Grinding and writhing and rhyming and stealing... that's what I would call that.”

“Lars?” Mrs. Hamilton called out from upstairs. “Lars, where are you?”

Scott said something in the next room over. I couldn't see them, but all I could see was the pride of Denmark on the floor for both Cindy and I to see for ourselves, with no shame and a bucket load of glory. I looked down at my undone jeans and wondered what else I could do from here.

Footsteps caught my ear to the right, and then Mrs. Hamilton poked her head into the room. I could tell she, too, was partially naked. Her face lit up at the sight of us, but she shook her head at the sight of Lars.

“Tsk-tsk, Lars, don't you know it's common courtesy to wear pants in front of the ladies?” I scoffed at him, which got a giggle out of Cindy.

“There's my little apple danish,” Mrs. Hamilton said with a smirk on her face. “You ready for another round?”

“I—I don't know,” he sputtered. She rolled her eyes and strode into the room. She wasn't totally naked: she did have a one inch wide leather belt around her hips, the silvery sparkly buckle of which hung below her belly button.

“Is that a tomahawk,” I pointed out the thing down inside of the belt, right next to her hip. It reminded me of that first time I wore a headdress during a show and had an actual tomahawk stuffed down my pants.

“Yeah, you wish,” Lars blurted out.

“It's actually the handle to a butcher knife,” Mrs. Hamilton told me.

“I don't know whether to be afraid or aroused,” Scott called from the next room.

“Both, Scott!” Mrs. Hamilton hollered over her shoulder.

“You got him into it, too?” I raised my eyebrows at that. Scott poked his head into the room: those thick eyebrows were raised high up like they were thick black worms.

“I'm gonna come out all bloody, supposedly,” he confessed.

“You're not gonna be bloody,” Mrs. Hamilton assured him. She returned to Lars and nudged the side of his foot with the pad of her foot.

“If anything, I think we're gonna have jars of apple danish here soon enough,” I told Scott.

“Apple danish and liquidized Injun,” Lars recalled with a limp raise of his hand from the floor.  
“Delicious,” I declared with a shake of my head.

“And bloody Jew baby, too,” Scott added before he moved his head away from the doorway.

“You're not gonna be bloody!” Mrs. Hamilton insisted. She extended her hand down and stooped over a bit. I noticed the smooth curvature of her ass and a speckling of red on one side. Lars must have had a moment with his hand. “Come on, Lars—come on, big boy, let's do this.”

He clutched onto her hand with both of his and climbed onto his feet, albeit with a bit of struggling. Cindy and I sat there on the bed across from each other and watched her help him onto his feet without crouching down. Lars staggered a bit as if he was tipsy but he caught himself in an upright position. Mrs. Hamilton set her hand on his shoulder so as to keep him steady. She turned her head for one last look at us.

“I'll see you later, Cindy,” she said, “you kids don't stay up too late, okay?”

“Of course, Mom!” Cindy assured her as she brought her arms closer to her body: her upper arms pushed her breasts closer together. Those nipples were still as smooth as her own curves. Once they were out of earshot, I spoke up again.

“You know, when we were walkin' here, I thought of pinching your ass.”

“Ah, a little boot-ay love,” she teased me with a mischievous smirk upon her face.

“Although I do wanna do sump'n about those, though.” I gestured to her chest.

“Yeah, you weren't too shy about wanting to touch them.”

I examined her body as it was before me: she sat there on her knees next to me with no top on but with a pair of lacey panties on over her hips. The waist band hugged her actual waist to where she had a gentle curve under her belly button. A thought ran through my mind telling me that I should paint her. I wanted to paint her. Just set up a canvas on an easel and sketch her out and paint her in the softest warmest colors possible. She did foresee us becoming Renaissance men after all.

Cindy tossed back her black hair and showed me a smile.

“What you thinking about?” she asked me.

“Painting.”

“Painting houses?”

“Painting you. And maybe Gwen and Leela, too.”

“Ah, so you're taking that to heart, aren't you?” She grinned at me, to which I shrugged at her.

“I don't see why not,” I confessed.

“Maybe we can paint on this beautiful body of yours at one point,” she suggested with a twinkle in her eye.

“Again, I don't see why not,” I repeated. “I'm Indian after all.”

“Ooh, henna!” she squealed.

“Different kind of Indian,” I pointed out.

“But still! I'd be honored, Joey. You'll be my canvas.”

Frankie stumbled through the door right then. Charlie followed suit except he staggered in and caught his balance before he fell ass over teakettle onto the floor, or on top of Frankie. They both looked hammered, or at least in a daze.

“Come back here, you two!” Gwen called out from the next room.

“It's just a little rope is all,” Louise added.

“Frank, I told you Joey and Cindy were in here,” Charlie scoffed and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

Frankie stood up on his knees and tossed his hair back from his neck. “So? Let's have a li'l party, Char.”

“A li'l three way party of sorts?” I teased them with a smirk.

Gwen and Louise emerged in the doorway right then: the latter had a roll of white rope slung over her shoulder, while the former had taken off her top and beheld us her bear black chest. Both of them were wearing black lace brassieres and nothing else.

“Make that six, baby,” Cindy corrected me.

“I vote yes!” Frankie declared.

“Okay, so how we gonna do this?” Charlie asked them as he took off his jeans right there.

“Let's just improvise all this, shall we?” I suggested.

“Ow, Joey!” Frankie quipped with a clap of the hands.

“What'd you do to him, Cindy?!” Gwen joked as she climbed up onto the bed in front of my feet.

“Made him the master of himself, that's what I did,” she said with a touch of glee to her voice.

“Get on it, Mama,” I teased her as I sank down onto my back for those two sisters. “Mamas, I should say.”

“Three bad boys here, Cindy and Gwen,” Louise joined in right then. “They each need to be punished. Big time—especially darling Joey here given he's the eldest...” She unraveled the rope and showed it to me.

She was kind enough to tie the three of us up by the wrists and the ankles. I stayed up on the bed while Frankie and Charlie took to the floor. All of this was at first, anyways.

I let the three of them have their way with me, and I was sure Frankie and Charlie did the same, too. I tasted each of their lips, on their faces as well as between their legs; they each tasted like cherries, but there was something to each one of them. It was like they were taking turns, like a game of sexy musical chairs or something.

Cindy was familiar and still warm from the encounter before, but she amped it up this time around. She peeled back my jeans again for a touch and blow but she gave the inside of my thighs a whole mess of kisses. I watched her do that open legged, fully spread wide open, ass up tits down thing on both Frankie and Charlie like what she did to me the first time here: how she did it to them at the same time, I had no idea.

But then came Gwen and those one inch black and hot pink striped fingernails of hers: she stroked me down with those fine rounded edges and with such lightness that they felt like the tips of feathers. The lightest of touch was enough to take my breath away. There was nothing I could do about it, especially since right next to me Louise squatted over Charlie's mouth and he stuck his tongue right up into those lips like he was licking ice cream.

“Look at me, baby,” she whispered to me. “You sexy, sexy man, you—”

Gwen's dark lips grazed over mine and she caressed down my chest. A black girl and an Iroquois boy. Roots. Roots! Roots, baby, roots! The sun and everything that existed!

“If Cindy gets a taste, I should, too,” she told me in a husky voice.

“Hey, as long as I can have some of yours, too,” I said with a wag of my finger. She licked her lips and showed me a mischievous grin.

She slid down to my hips and, once she turned around and planted her knees on either side of me so her bare black ass was right up in my face, brought her fingers to the tip. I felt her squeezing and pulling at the taut skin.

“Easy there, big fella!” Cindy commanded to Frankie; I rolled my head over to find he had already come a little bit, and that clear liquid oozed out onto the back of her hand, but she gripped onto him like the handle of a butcher knife. Meanwhile, Gwen put her face down onto me, which meant she put her lips right in my face. Bright fiery red and fanned out like the petals of a ripe orchid in full bloom.

Duh.

I inserted my tongue much like Charlie over there. There was something more to those lips; something a little more savory, like one of those Belgian waffles Lars made for me earlier. Fanned out and fiery red, only growing redder with each caress of my tongue. That sugary glaze was coming on. Every lick on her part brought me closer and I know I returned the favor to her given she was breathing harder and harder: her chest pressed firmer against me and I could hear every soft moan from the back of her throat.

At one point, I closed my eyes to savor it some more.

Another lick. And another. A third and a fourth. Then—

“Yeah, baby boy, that's how you do it!” she declared and I knew I had come right then. She lifted her head and peered over her shoulder for a flash of a grin at me. I lay my head back on the pillow and let out a low whistle: Gwen still had her ass right in my face.

Not that I was complaining.

“Yeah—Yeah, you like that fat ass, don't ya?” Cindy teased me. I raised both hands and gave Gwen double the spanking—quite the feat given I was bound by the wrists. She rolled off of me laughing her head off the whole entire time. She lay on her side with one hand pressed to her brow; I was laughing with her.

Gwen's ass and Cindy's tits. I was a happy camper, even with my feet bound and my tied up wrists down by my waist.

Louise still had a ways to go with Charlie—as far as I could tell anyways—which meant Gwen would join in with Cindy to take care of Frankie. Unless she wanted to lay there laughing her ass off the whole entire time.

Charlie finally let out the weirdest noise I ever heard him make in the time I had known him and Louise scrambled onto the bed to get me.

“Looks like the plot's still not over yet,” she teased me.

“Eh, Louie Louie—” I sang out. I didn't know the words so I just made noises to the tune of it.

“Ow!” I heard Lars yell out from upstairs.

“Hold still!” Mrs. Hamilton called out.

“What she said,” Louise told me with a lashing of her tongue. She and Gwen rolled me over onto my side, and then I realized what they were doing. My legs dangled over the edge of the bed. Gwen crawled off of the bed and made her way over to Frankie and Cindy.

“You know why we tied you three up, right?” she asked me as tendrils of her dark hair caressed over my chest.

“'Cause we're bad?” was all I could think of.

“'Cause every dirty dog needs to be held down and scrubbed clean with a bit o' discipline. You're laying on Egyptian cotton, big boy—every pharaoh needs the biggest bath possible.”

Louise took a seat on my thighs and rubbed against the skin, right there and on my hips. She set her hands on either side of me so as to steady herself.

Swish. And a swish. Right over my lap. We were in a strip club, after all.

There was nothing I could do except let myself rise.

She then stepped off of me and stood over me. She peered over her shoulder.

“Watch and learn, Charlie,” she declared. She unbuttoned her bra and let it fall down her shoulders and her arms. Completely naked over me.

She took a seat on top and moved her hips about like she was churning butter. Each one was harder and firmer than the last. Her breasts were like big bouncy balloons: her dark nipples latched onto my line of sight. I was hypnotized. She hypnotized me. Right there on the sight of the bed.

I could feel myself rising again, like doors opening and closing—where were these metaphors coming from?!

“God damn it, I can't take it!” I screeched. I gritted my teeth and breathed harder.

“Come on, baby—” Louise was cold as ice, but damn. “—come on. Come to Mama! Come to Mama!”

I made the same type of shriek I did for the Armed and Dangerous pressing and Frankie followed suit. Upstairs, I heard someone fall onto the floor. But it was neither here nor there at that point: I had come multiple times.

Louise leaned over me and kissed me on the lips: those black cherry lips as smooth and sweet as black cherries themselves. She showed me a devilish grin.

“Good boy,” she whispered. I lay there and looked at her, out of breath and weak at the knees. She tossed her hair back again before she untied me, and then Frankie and Charlie.

“Come on, girls—let's go see how Big Mama's doin',” Cindy said to them. They left the room in a swagger and a sashay of those hips, which in turn left the three of us there to ruminate over it.

“Jesus,” Charlie muttered.

“Yeah,” Frankie panted from the floor beneath me. “Yeah, I'll say. Fuck.”

“Gosh... I've never felt so alive,” I said to them as I pushed back my hair from my face. “It's like I've been rejuvenated or sump'n.”

“All the indulgence and the power,” Charlie told me, “as long as you don't overdo it, I'm sure you'll be good, Joe.”

“I'm more than good—I feel like I can do anything.” I ran my fingers through my hair again and then hoisted myself onto my elbows. I could breathe. It was like everything had been lifted off of my shoulders.

“Okay... but if we do that again, let's eat more than just lunch,” Frankie groaned, “'cause I think I'm gonna throw up...”

He scrambled out of there into the next room, which left Charlie and I to look at one another. He brushed a few locks of that tightly coiled dark hair back from the side of his face: his round face had a bit of blush to it and he had a little bit of saliva running down that deep cleft in his chin. His brown eyes twinkled from underneath his bangs like a pair of cockroaches. I nibbled on my bottom lip, given he was the last person I spoke to on that fateful day. The fact we were back together and our eyes had seen each other, albeit with three girls, left me wondering what was to happen next.

“Um...” he started. I swallowed. I had no idea what to say right then.

“You want a cup of coffee?” he offered me, much to my surprise.

“Uh... yeah!” I said and I almost laughed at that. “I'd love a cup of coffee. Just—you know. Lemme put my clothes back on.”

“Yeah, me, too. I think Lars and Scott are done upstairs, too—I'm not hearing them anymore.”

“Unless they're doin' it quietly,” I pointed out.

“Nah... one time Scott did it quietly with his ex—this was before you showed up—and they still made a bunch of noise. I'm talkin'—Frankie and I were down the block in the Bronx and we could hear 'em.”

“Wow.”


	5. hello darkness

It was quite the awkward walk at first, given Charlie and I had no clothes on—all I had were my pants, and after the big series of erections I had had, and after all of the food I had eaten that day, it was difficult to even keep those up my waist and my hips. And then there was the fact Lars, Scott, and Mrs. Hamilton all remained upstairs at the moment as far as I knew. It wasn't so much I had a discomfort with walking next to a naked man given we had showered together before, and also the fact we were in a strip club together, but rather it was the fact he was completely naked and I was all sweaty. I had my hopes that there would be a shower nearby because I didn't want to go out some place feeling all slovenly and whatnot.

Charlie skirted past one of the tables and he brushed his bare hip against the side.

“Ouch,” he grumbled.

“Oh, shit, you okay?” I asked him.

“Oh, yeah—it's just not often I cut my teeth on a rounded edge...”

Lucky for us, nobody saw us walking towards the front room to fetch our clothes: my hockey jersey still hung off of the back of the chair, as did my coat. I was quick to put on that clean jersey first, while Charlie roamed about the room for his underwear and his jeans. I spotted a pair of pants over by the bar, strewn right on top of that heavy wood. I looked over at him putting on his shorts on the other side of the room when I pointed it out.

“Are these here yours?”

“Right there?” he replied with a clearing of his throat. “I think so, if I remember correctly. I remember the girls lay the both of us on that shelf over there—” I remembered the first time I had come here and I did it with Cindy and Gwen on that very ledge in question. “—and Louise took our pants for us.” He ambled over to me to see them for himself.

He picked them off of the top of the bar and unfurled them out before him.

“Yeah, these are mine. Not sure where she put Frankie's pants at... but then again, it's Frankie's pants.”

“True,” I recalled.

I fixed my hair while he slipped on those pants. I noticed the legs were a bit on the baggy side, more so than I remembered from a mere few days ago when we last saw each other. He zipped them up and I realized my eyes were not fooling me.

“My jeans are getting loose,” he told me, and I shook my head and shrugged at that.

“Are you trying to lose weight?”

“Why would I try to lose weight when our nest egg is a bunch of burnt eggshells?”

My mouth dropped open at that. In fact, when I took a second look at Charlie's face, I noticed it appeared a little bit slimmer than normal. The three of them were bone broke, so bone broke that actual broken bones would break even more bones for them.

He peered over his shoulder to make sure we were alone in there, and then he motioned for me to come closer.

“What is it?” I asked him, to which he brought a finger to his lips.

“What is it?” I repeated in a whisper.

“You wanna know how broke Scott is right now?”

“How broke?”

“Just yesterday, he checked his bank account and found he had negative twenty five dollars.” I gaped at him.

“Negative?” I didn't even know that was possible.

“Yeah. He even printed out a receipt because he knew Frankie and I wouldn't believe him at first glimpse. But when he said that, I realized just how horrible that is to have. To not have, rather. He doesn't even have no money!”

“What about you and Frankie?” I asked him. He stuffed his hand into his one jeans pocket and I caught the sound of coins clinking against each other. He took out a handful of coins: even from there, I could tell he only had a couple of bucks in change. Not enough for even one cup of coffee.

“You sure John and Martha won't answer your calls?” I asked him, to which he nodded his head.

“Like what Scott said, it was like the place burned to the ground and the two of them bounced outta New York.”

“And the three of you almost froze to death because they left you out in the cold.”

“Exactly!” He then snapped his fingers as a twinkle in his eye emerged. “Hey, write that down, that's an excellent line for a song.”

“I don't have any paper, though,” I admitted to him with a shrug of the shoulders.

He glanced about the room for something, and then he lunged for the cash register behind the bar. Voices caught my ear, and I turned my head to find Scott and Mrs. Hamilton striding through that room, both of them completely naked. She had her arm across his shoulders and the look on his face was one of delirium.

“Hey!” Scott called out to me. “There's Joey!”

“The big chief of the hour,” Mrs. Hamilton declared.

“We were just talkin' 'bout you,” he added with a big goofy smile on his face. I looked over my shoulder to see Charlie writing something on the palm of his hand. Probably that line I had said.

“What about me?” I asked them as I adjusted the collar and the sleeves of my hockey jersey.

“How you're such a good boy and everything,” Mrs. Hamilton answered; even for being an older lady, she had quite the nice chest. No sagging or anything like that.

“Lars was talkin' about how you're so sweet that you've been lettin' him stay with you,” Scott added in one fell swoop.

“Where is Lars, by the way?” I asked them.

“He's napping,” she replied. “Poor boy had quite the adventure up there, such that it overwhelmed him. And he's a regular in here!”

“What'cha writin', Char?” asked Scott.

“Pretty kick ass line Joey threw out a little bit ago.” He held out the palm of his hand to the side for Scott and Mrs. Hamilton to see for themselves. “'We almost froze to death because they left us out in the cold.'”

“Ooh, yeah—that's a good one,” Scott agreed.

“See, Joey, you have so much to offer,” said Mrs. Hamilton.

“Well, I dunno 'bout that,” I confessed as I stuffed my hands into my pockets and bent my right knee.

“Aw, come on,” she insisted. “You have so much to offer.”

And then I realized she called me “big chief of the hour.” Huh.

“Tell you what, Joey,” Scott began, “—when we get our shit together, I promise you that on the next record that we'll give you writing credits.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Really. Really really. Like after what happened following the incident at the warehouse, you're a good guy, Joey. And now I'm finding out that you're a literal gold mine for things to make Charlie write them down on the palm of his hand.”

Charlie meanwhile shook his hand about to dry out the ink. He then set down the pen back on the shelf behind him.

“You guys wanna get some coffee?” he offered Scott and Mrs. Hamilton.

“Love some coffee!” Scott decreed. “But I have negative money, though.”

“I've got money,” she promised him.

“Big Mama's got us covered,” I said.

“Big Mama's got you boys covered,” she echoed with a grin and a gleam in her eye.

“Let me see if Lars is up, though,” I told them with a raise of both of my index fingers.

“Gives us time to get dressed,” she assured me, and without another word, I skirted past them to double back to the real big room.

I held onto the rungs of the ladder and climbed up to that loft, the site of a queen bed with the covers thrown off of the mattress and a pair of floor lamps made of that real heavy black wrought iron off to the sides. Lars himself lay face down ass up in the middle of the mattress: his hair spread out from one side of his head, over the spot next to him like a smooth blanket.

“Hey—” I called out to him. “Hey—” That time I didn't have something to pull out from under him to get his ass moving. I wasn't willing to pick up the mattress, either.

I did have my bare feet, though.

Even though the rope that Louise had tied us up with was buttery smooth, my skin down on my ankles itched a little bit, especially once I raised one foot to shake the right side of his ass. He groaned as I shook him a little bit.

“Hey!” I called out to him. I lowered my foot and reached forward for a slap on the ass.

“Hey!” he yelped out; he raised his head to better enunciate it a second time around. He turned his head to look back at me, puzzled and a little disheveled.

“What're you doing?” he demanded in a broken voice.

“What're you doing?” I asked him.

“Sleeping.”

“Not by the looks of it, you aren't. Anyways, get up and get dressed. Mrs. Hamilton's takin' us out for coffee.”

“Oh, shit—where are my clothes?” he wondered aloud. “And be careful with my ass, too—Mrs. Hamilton really went to town with that knife handle earlier. What the hell did she do with mine and Scott's clothes?”

“That's what I wanna know,” I said with a brush of that tender ass. He let out a little squeak and clambered into a seated position there on the bed, probably to regather his bearings. I glanced about the loft, past the floor lamps, for his clothes. I figured they might have been buried inside of those covers and that duvet, and sure enough, they were!

“Here, so I won't haveta drum that booty of yours again,” I told him with a toss of his pants at him. He caught the pants on the side of his head and his shoulders, such that he lifted his right leg a bit to show me some of the back of his thigh.

“Don't do that again unless you're sitting on a gold mine,” I scoffed at him. He clasped his pants to his chest so as to show me the baffled look upon his face.

“Do what again?”

“Lift your leg like that.”

“Sit on a gold mine,” he echoed, and put his pants over the tops of legs to protect his genitals. “Where's my underwear?”

I lifted up a pair of little white shorts from inside of a fold in the comforter.

“I believe I have 'em,” I said. “You know, I actually had a pair of white shorts like these once—I have no clue what happened to 'em, though. They were extra short like this, too.”

“And you actually wore them about like real shorts?” he almost laughed at that.

“Yeah, they were real nice white denim—what'd you think I meant?”

He opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by the sound of Mrs. Hamilton's voice.

“Lars? Joey?”

“Present!” he called out.

“Heya,” I followed up with a turn of my head and a glance down to her.

“What're you boys doing?”

“Just tryna get Lars' ass movin' up here,” I replied.

“Real New Yorker of you, Joey,” Lars remarked.

“How ya doin',” I said in a low tone. “Like that?” I brought my voice up to my regular voice.

“Like that!” He groped at me for his shorts and I tossed them at him.

“Avert your eyes,” he told me as he held them before him. “Don't look—don't _fucking_ look.”

I stood to my feet and wondered over to the ladder for a look down at the floor below me. I spotted Mrs. Hamilton wrapped up in her skirt and her teddy once again, but this time she had put on that leather jacket over the top of her body. I noticed Scott striding up next to her with those dark eyebrows of his raised and his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

They were standing almost a little too close to each other and I wondered what went down up here when the bunch of us were down below having our party.

I heard a zipper pulling up, and I turned to see Lars standing to his feet. He once again looked a lot heavier than I had imagined, and more so at that point—like he had gained about ten or fifteen pounds worth of water weight when neither of us were looking.

“Have you seen my shirt?” he asked me.

“It's probably in there,” I replied as I examined the fuller outline of his body.

There was something Lars hid from us, something that made me think back to the warehouse when we were running out of there. He told us there were instruments on one side of the room, but I didn't see anything there. And then there was the incessant belching. Granted, he did have a reason for that with eating a bunch of meat, but I never saw him with any meat once I gave it some thought. When he let out another one upon putting on his shirt, I caught a whiff of iron.

It made sense.

That didn't mean I had to accept it as truth.

He adjusted his hair and turned to me with his eyes bright and his skin looking warm.

“Shall we?” he offered me.

“We shall,” I answered to him with a raise of my eyebrow. Mrs. Hamilton's laugh caught my ear right then and I could only assume they were growing antsy over there. I led him down the line to the floor beneath us and we ambled over to Mrs. Hamilton and Scott to check to see what they were discussing right then.

“Yeah, I used to have these really gaudy yellow shorts that said 'not' all over them,” he was telling her. “I'd wear 'em all the time—you remember those, Joey?”

“Oh, yeah, they looked like shorts made completely of duct tape, boxed cheese, and yellow caution tape,” I replied.

“So where—wait, where are Frank and Charlie?” asked Lars as he passed them to fetch his coat.

“No clue actually,” Scott confessed. “Charlie just said he'd be right back.”

“And Frankie said he needed to barf,” I recalled.

“They're over here, you guys,” Lars hollered from the front of the club.

“They've been standin' over there for several minutes?” Scott wondered aloud, to which I shrugged. But the three of us made our way over to them: I caught the smell of peppermint, to the point it was right up in my face.

“Damn,” Scott remarked.

“Louise lent me a shitload of tooth paste in a jar,” Frankie said to us with a break in his voice. His breath reeked of that rich peppermint to where Charlie was rubbing his eyes from it.

“Jesus,” I said as I fanned my hand before my nose and my mouth. “God, Frankie, d'you use all of it?”

“Nah, it was just overkill even from using a little bit.”

“Where are the girls anyway?” Lars asked them.

“They're all changin' clothes,” said Charlie. “They told us to get movin' if they didn't want that puke smell to float into their room. It smelled real good in there, too.”

“It did!” Frankie declared. “Last thing we saw before we got outta there was Cindy putting lotion on her chest.”

I sighed through my nose because I was so close to touching those breasts and she swatted my hand!

“I should tell you boys that if we're going anywhere towards Syracuse, you oughta be bringing back those masks of yours,” Mrs. Hamilton informed us in a single breath.

“We're not goin' to Syracuse, though,” I pointed out. “I know a place down near the reservation.”

They all looked on at me with some serious intent. Lars even raised those eyebrows at me, as did Scott.

“Injun,” Charlie mouthed, to which I nodded at him. Mrs. Hamilton poked her head into their dressing room to tell them where we were going, and then she doubled back to the cash register to fetch her keys to lock it.

Meanwhile, we all bundled up inside of our coats and headed out to that burgeoning lake effect cold: I noticed the clouds forming on the farthest side of the valley, right over those cold leafy shores of Lake Ontario. Something told me it was going to snow some time soon—when, I had no idea. I knew I had to say this, though: it was better than being in that hot strip club and getting all sweaty once more.

After what had happened down in the City, I assumed that Mrs. Hamilton found herself a brand new car. But rather, her car was parked on the far side of the lot behind Black Orchid and looking quite forlorn and weary from all that had happened. The front bumper was still crumpled from where we ran into that transformer, and even from a distance, I could tell the hole left behind from the passenger window had been covered with a sheet of plastic and a ream of duct tape. At least the windshield, the roof, and the hood were all clean.

“Don't tell me we're takin' that,” Scott said to her in the same tone of voice you'd expect to hear at the sight of something like that.

“We are,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “Even after all the nonsense down there in New York City, it still runs well and the axles are all still intact. It's just—when you boys pile into the back seat, keep your heads down if you want to stay warm.”

“What about the front seat?” Frankie asked her. She didn't answer.

I sighed through my nose again as we made our way over to the car: Scott called shotgun, which meant I had to be stuffed in the back with Frankie, Charlie, and Lars, but he would be face to face with wind and cold through a sheet of plastic. The whole interior smelled of lemons and a hint of iron, like some of the blood from that one clone got into the backseat somehow. I huddled next to Charlie, who had his one hand up on the bar overhead: I noticed one of the screws holding it to the ceiling was coming loose. One too hard of a turn and whoever held onto that thing would yank it down.

Lars and Frankie squeezed in to the right of me: the skinny boy crammed in between three big guys. One too hard of a turn and the bar would fall and the big guys would protect me. I figured it wasn't too bad after all.

Indeed, the car fired up and the bunch of us drove out of the parking lot behind Black Orchid. We reached the street corner and I wondered if Mrs. Hamilton knew the way there.

“It's on the outskirts of town, right, Joey?” she called back to me.

“...yes? Yeah.”

She turned right and Frankie and Lars bowed their heads down to avoid the blowing of the cold wind through that sheet of plastic. I wrinkled my nose and kept my shoulders hunched up; I envied Charlie given all he did was squint his eyes a little bit, but I knew it had to be rough for Scott. Every so often, he flicked his head back to get that thinning hair out of his mouth.

“How is it?” Mrs. Hamilton shouted over the winds.

“Not bad, actually,” said Scott. “Kinda noisy and the plastic smells funny. But it's better than stickin' your head out of the window, though.”

I brought my coat collar up to the top half of my face. My bangs protected my brow and my eyebrows but my ears were still freezing over from the raw cold coming in from the window. Lars hunkered down closer to me while Frankie was practically laying down in the seat with his knees up against that corner between the back of the passenger seat and the door frame. Cold knees were better than a cold face, I suppose.

We wound our way through the back half of 'Swaygo when I recognized the tall pine trees lining the outside of the reservation. All the memories of my mom and my grandma taking me there when I was a little boy came back to knock me sideways. I had the memory of wearing a little headdress when I was in elementary school during a drum circle still as clear as day when we came closer. Across the street, I noticed a small dim lit cafe that had been there for as long as I could remember. My grandma always got me a hot chocolate there on the extra cold days, like that very day.

Except I was older at that point. But there were times I still wanted a little white mug of hot cocoa and those tiny little marshmallows, especially on a chilly day such as that.

Mrs. Hamilton turned into the driveway a little hard but Charlie managed to hold onto the handle just fine: I took a glimpse up at the handle on the ceiling. That one loose screw stayed in place, much to my relief. But I looked over at Frankie and watched him leaning over a little too hard into Lars' chest.

“Ouch—ow, Frank!”

“Hang on, everybody,” Mrs. Hamilton told us as we bounded into the little gravel parking lot. It was always weird walking around there whenever it snowed: one time I asked my grandma if she would take me sledding there but she swore to me that was a bad idea because I wouldn't go very far.

She pulled on the parking brake and killed the engine. Scott rubbed his eyes and gave his hair a toss back.

“We gotta get you a new car,” he told her.

“We?” said Charlie as he let go of the handle.

“We?” said Frankie with a clearing of his throat and sitting upright.

“We?” I said just because; but then again it wasn't for just because given I knew I was a part of this again now.

“I, I mean,” Scott corrected with a nervous smirk on his face.

“That's real kind of you, Scott, but remember, I'm the one with the money,” Mrs. Hamilton swore to him as she unbuckled her seat belt. “I'm already savin' for a new car.”

“Hopefully you can get a nice big one soon, too,” Frankie added. “I dunno if I can take another ride like that.”

“You?” said Scott.

“You?” Lars echoed.

“Yeah, you saw me—I was layin' on my back like how the girls had me layin' on my back.”

“Except you're cold as ice this time,” Charlie quipped.

“ _I'm so hot for her, I'm so hot for her, she's so cold_!” I sang, which made them all laugh out loud. We all piled out onto the cold gravel and we made our way up to the rickety wooden front door, which I could tell they had repainted given the smoothness of the rich dark red color on the outside: Mrs. Hamilton held the door for me, and then Lars, followed by Scott, Frankie, and Charlie.

The inside was exactly the same from my memory, from the kiss of scarlet on one wall to the cream colored paint job all around to the heavy dark wood making up everything. We were greeted by that aroma of fresh brewed coffee and muffins and scones straight out of the oven in the next room. I was there for a mere cup of coffee, but upon looking out the window, there was a part of me that wanted to take them across the street to check out the reservation for themselves. It had been so long it seemed, the last time I sat in a drum circle or attended a powwow. The headdress on my head during a performance of “Indians” lacked the same feeling to me. Sure, I was in my element when on stage, but there was something else to sitting still and feeling the earth underneath my folded legs.

We took our seats at the big table on the far side of the room, right underneath one of the windows where we could look out at the car and the entrance to the reservation.

“What is that?” Lars asked out loud from across the table. I turned my head and followed his gaze up to something on the wall dividing the window next to us and the one next over: one of those mallets with a long spindly handle and a tattered looking head tied down with twine. It wasn't a tomahawk, I knew that much.

“Looks like a mallet,” I said. “A mallet straight outta the cartoons.”

Mrs. Hamilton offered to get the five of us a round of the coffee, but I kept my eye on the reservation out there. All the memories kept on returning to me with every examination of the trees out there. I also remembered there were sand baths out there, too: embedded in those trees stood a big stretch of fine grayish sand dotted with holes that looked like exhumed grave sites. But they were sand baths: you could lay in one of those and have someone come on over and lay a stretch of sand over you like you would on a beach. But the sands there would help nourish the skin and it felt like someone was holding you all the way around. The experience was not on the same level as laying in bed with a bunch of blankets, but it did have a similar feeling.

Crawling down into a hole, laying down flat on your back, and relaxing into the earth for one teeny tiny little moment in everything with a blanket of fine dirt over your body.

“Penny for your thoughts, Joey?” Lars asked me as he brought his cup of coffee to his lips but did not take a sip. I turned to him and then dropped my gaze to the white bone china mug before me.

“When we're done here, I wanna take you guys across the street,” I said.

“I'm sure we can do that,” Mrs. Hamilton's conceded with a wink before she took a sip. “I'll allow it.”

I was feeling warm again once we headed back outside to that stretch of gravel, but that time around, I had been put into the leading position. This was my history here, my roots, the reason why I put a headdress on my head in the first place. I stood on the edge of the parking lot and glanced about both ways first before I led them across the pavement to the entrance. Suddenly, I was a young kid again walking up that dirt path with my mom and my grandma and it made my heart swell a little bit.

Allow me to just put on a bit of ink in the form of a monarch butterfly upon my chest and run around with the biggest fucking war bonnet I could get my hands on. My soul was lighting up here and shoving itself right into my earhole. The path wound its way through the trees and I found myself in the empty clearing, the site of all the drum circles and whatnot, and I found myself wondering if I could be even more bone broke than the three guys behind me. So bone broke that my bones turn to dust in the wind.

That faint, delicate aroma of incense burning caught my attention. Underneath it was the earthy smell of sand.

“What's that over there?” Frankie asked me. I stared straight ahead to see that very stretch of grayish sand.

“Need a bath?” I offered him. I led the way across the clearing to the sand baths; to my left stood a small wooden shed with an open front, with a shelf covered in towels to accompany with a spot in the sand there.

“I just feel peaceful walking through here,” Scott remarked. “A piece of peace is what we need.”

“What the earth here could need... a piece of the pie of peace.” Lars followed up as he gazed out to the sand baths.

“Peas?” Scott asked him.

“Peas,” Lars said.

“Peas porridge hot,” I muttered, “peas porridge cold... peas porridge in a pot nine days old.”

And yet I could feel something within me. There was something about those memories I had had before then, but something about those memories brought me there to the reservation. I thought back to the conversation I had with Mr. Lang back at my place. He told me to let them figure out how to say “thank you.”

Let them figure it out because I was the one who saved them. Let them figure it out because I was the one who's letting Lars stay with me for the time being.

Let them figure it out... because I was the one who found Maya and dragged them into this mess.

And at that point, I was back to square one, a place I visited as a small boy. A little boy once again with my head clear and the dead weight off of my shoulders.

I also thought about Lars joking about living near here, hence why there were ghosts in my apartment.

It all had to go together somehow. It only made sense to me.

“The music industry is going sideways,” I stated aloud as I gazed on at Lars, who crouched down before one of the open sand baths, “and yet we were brought here. What could it possibly mean?”

I looked out the incoming darkness, out to the rain clouds as they formed around the nondescript outskirts of Oswego. I followed their shape as they extended out towards Syracuse. I looked out behind us to the faint lights making up the skyline of Syracuse, and I spotted some neon. All of that neon like down in New York City. Maybe I was just overreacting, but it made me wonder about things.

I turned back to Lars, Scott, Frankie, and Charlie as they congregated one of the sand baths. I had the weirdest sensation in the pit of my stomach.

Neon. That weird meaty webby shit covering the sidewalks in the heart of Manhattan.

Those clones. Malfunctioning at random times and coming after us. Blood hungry, bizarre, and bloody bizarre. Those clones made of human flesh, including the flesh of our brothers and sisters in the music world.

Me laying on an operating table and having my body sliced open and mutilated while I was awake. That was a dream, but still. It hung with me in my memory.

“What could it possibly mean?” Mrs. Hamilton asked me; the very sound of her voice jarred me. “What do you mean?”

“All of it. Everything that's happened to this point.”

Lars approached us with a grave look on his face.

“There's something odd about this place here, Joey,” he told me. “Like—I'm getting a weird feeling about it.”

“Explain,” I said.

“You know that pit you get in your stomach when something bad is about to happen?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“It's kind of like that.”

In fact, I glanced about the area. There was something off about it: when I came here as a kid, the place was bright and colorful, like anybody could come here, especially if they were like me and Iroquois, despite it being a reservation. All of that was missing. In fact, a lot of it had been replaced by nothing more than low sheds and some benches: the one thing that stayed intact was this piece of sand before us. All the old houses were gone, but a little mausoleum looking building way over by the edge of the trees. Lars' joke about living near a reservation.

You violate the dead in some fashion, and they'll come back for you at some point, especially when they were here first, ya bastard.

Of course.

“The damn clones are going to come back,” I told them. “When is beyond me, though.”

“What do you think we should do?” Mrs. Hamilton asked me in a hushed voice. I stared straight ahead to Frankie and Charlie checking out one of the sand baths near the far side of it. I nibbled on my bottom lip.

“Nuthin' yet,” I advised her. “As far as you, me, your apple danish here, and this bush right here all know, there's not a lot we can do.”

“Yeah, and if we do, we probably won't find much or we are fucked sideways,” Lars added, unfazed by the fact I referred to him as an “apple danish.”

“So just—stand by, rather,” she followed along, “is what you're saying.”

“Exactly.”

“I oughta build a pyramid over your chest, Char,” Frankie was saying.

“Forget the pyramid—gimme a cube.”

“Last thing you guys need is a cube—” Scott quipped.


	6. i'm no good

Mrs. Hamilton took us back to Black Orchid for a brief time, but I wanted to shower off and then relax at home for a bit, especially since I had had my hockey game. That time around, I took the front seat, which meant Scott would be away from that noisy plastic and he could nestle down in the warmth. It wasn't too much of a difference given he was completely right: the window made so much noise I could hardly hear myself think about things. Something brought us to the reservation, not just my own memory.

That dream maybe? No. Maybe it was Mr. Lang and the fact I lived with four ghosts.

But regardless, I really had no chance to think about the clones and when they might make their way up to upstate New York, or Candace's journal for that matter.

Oh, shit, Candace's journal! I completely forgot to mention it back there at the reservation!

It wasn't until we reached the parking lot outside of Black Orchid when I could have a thought or two about that. There was so much of that one entry that I had forgotten about, but I knew that her dying put us right in the midst of things, probably more so than my finding Maya on the sidewalk.

Or something like that. I had no idea.

All I knew was someone close to Candace stood behind the making those clones and they were about to come for us if we didn't find a way to stop them. The music industry made up a small piece of the pie, but a piece is more than a crumb. This could bring the whole world to its knees for all we knew.

I stayed in the front seat as Scott and Frankie climbed out first; Charlie took to the door behind Mrs. Hamilton. She looked over at me with a puzzled look on her face.

“Wanna come back inside, babe?” she offered me.

“I was thinkin' you could take Lars and me home—I need a shower.”

“Okay!” she said. “We can do that. Gives me a chance to check your bachelor pad, too.”

Once the three of them had climbed out, and Mrs. Hamilton told them what was going on, I glanced over my shoulder to find Lars leaning back in the back seat with his arms over the tops of the seats. Little lion man let his hair hang down over his shoulders and he brought his one knee over the other.

Oh yeah. And then there was him.

I couldn't explain it, but my partner in crime hid something from us. From me.

Once the doors were shut, Mrs. Hamilton backed out of the spot and I guided her back to my place. It was tricky given the racket from that sheet of plastic, but we managed to do it, especially since my voice carried more than that of Scott.

She pulled into the driveway at the parking lot and took the first spot closest to my place. We were down from where we found Maya on the back of that van—that was another thing I couldn't seem to take off of: why Lars and I managed to pry her off of there without anybody questioning us or anything like that.

I guided the two of them back to my front door, and the very second I set foot inside, I wanted to collapse onto the couch and take a nap. But I needed to shower and change my clothes first.

“Cute little place,” Mrs. Hamilton remarked as she peeked into the kitchen.

“Rent's good as it'll ever be and it's just me here,” I told her as I took off my coat and hung up my keys. I watched Lars lean his back against the wall behind the kitchen to take off his shoes: I spotted a small hole forming on the inside of the sock on his left foot.

“You know, a shower does sound nice right about now,” she confessed.

“I have spare towels in the closet down the hall here,” I said with a gesture to the hallway.

“Oh, no, Joey, I can't do it here.”

“Come on. You bought us coffee and you're letting Manny, Moe, and Jack stay at Black Orchid for the time being. I might as well return the favor.”

She showed me a little smile.

“Okay—it's a deal. But I don't have my shampoo with me, though.”

“You can use mine. It's one of those real big bottles so it'll last me a long time.”

“Well, aren't you just a sweet heart.” She let her smile grow over her face, to which I shrugged.

“I try my best,” I confessed to her, and without another word, she hung up her coat and made her way down the hall to the closet.

I watched her go inside of the bathroom and then I returned to Lars, who poured himself a glass of water from the faucet.

We were alone again and I had a lot on my mind. It was best to make note of it now rather than wait until Mrs. Hamilton left or we were back to Black Orchid. I swallowed down my nervousness as I watched him drink down that glass of water.

He set it down on the counter and looked at me.

“What?” he asked me. I sighed through my nose and clasped my hands together.

“Okay. I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?” He frowned at me and knitted his eyebrows together. “Is this about me staying here?”

“No. It's got nothing to do with that. It's more important than that. And I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Okay—um.” My mind went blank right then. He raised his eyebrows at me. I figured it was best to start from the beginning.

“Do you remember when we were in the warehouse running—and you told me there were like musical instruments on the other side of the room?”

He hesitated with his eyes peered off to the side. “Yes,” he replied in a low voice.

“I didn't see any,” I told him. “The next thing I want to highlight is—how'd you know that the music industry is a part of this? Like—we have the pieces—but there's one missing.”

He stared at me but didn't say anything.

“Lars—I'm going to tell you the same thing Mr. Lang said to me. There's something on your mind. There's something you're not telling me.”

“Mr. Lang?”

“One of the ghosts who live here.”

“There's no such thing as ghosts, Joey.”

“Don't change the subject. I need answers from you.”

“And I need to know why you feel the need to try and scare me.”

“I'm not,” I insisted. “And again, don't change the subject. There's something you're not telling me, Lars. How did you know these things before we did? And moreover, what made you think neither of us, be it me or Scott, Frankie, or Charlie, would notice? So tell me. Tell me everything.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip. Those green eyes gazed at me hard. I stood there before him as he held onto that glass by the base.

He then turned back to the sink for a refill.

I watched it fill up towards the rim, but once he switched off the faucet, he never took a drink. Instead, he turned back to me. He stayed silent as he strode past me towards the front room. He took a seat on the couch with the glass still in one hand.

I pressed my hands to my hips.

The whole place was silent save for the faucet of the shower squeaking on and the water running.

“Tell you everything, you said,” he began in a low voice.

“Yes. It's imperative that we get the secrets out. You're all about that, anyway.”

“True.”

“So why the hold up?”

“It's—It's pretty awful. The truth, I mean.”

I knitted my eyebrows together and shook my head.

“Can't be that bad.”

“It is,” he said. “Trust me, it is.”

He gestured to my recliner chair.

“Have a seat.”

I wiped my hands together and took one more glimpse down the hallway. It was just in there for the time being.

I sank down in the chair next to the phone and the couch. Lars took a small sip of water before launching.

“You know, my better half—my wife—she is deceased.”

“Right. What's she gotta do with it?”

“She knew all about it.”

“Really?”

To which he nodded.

“More so than me, if you can believe that.”

“I'll believe it.”

“She was into the whole writing thing as well as figuring out what was going on with the music business. You know, I am just learning these things—I still am, too. And it's even more so the case now that I am out on the job from Metallica. But she—she had it all down to a science. She knew what was up and she would stop at nothing to figure it out, what was going on with Maya and Candace and all the bullshit happening behind them. She was more than willing to figure it all out—and she did it in a way that would protect me, because she knew that when—or, if, I should say, she always treated it as a possibility because you never know how these things will work out in the end—it would jeopardize my future, perhaps more so than being fired.”

“So she was like—she was like a spy?”

“Kind of. She had so many irons in the fire and I often worried it would put her in danger because she had such a mouth—you think I have a mouth on me! Given Metallica's status prior to my departure. She often got in trouble and she made a great deal of enemies, and I just knew that if something were to happen to her, the whole system would sustain a chain reaction in failure. You know, the whole thing about how we musicians are not walking in a vacuum.”

“Absolutely. We have other interests.”

“Exactly. So I figured that if something happened to her, the shit would hit the fan. All of the secrets would be uncovered, Maya and Candace's lives would be at stake, New York would go first, and the rest would follow.”

“But she ended up going anyways,” I said in a soft voice.

“Yeah.” His face fell. “Quietly, I should add. Quietly, but—slowly. Very, very—very slowly. Painfully, too.”

“Do you know what it was—that killed her?” I asked him in a low voice.

He fetched up a sigh.

“I have my theories,” he confessed, “but nothing concrete. Nothing solid that I can rely on and say in a public setting when provided the choice. I am still—putting together the pieces. Pulling it apart and putting things together, if you will...”

He took another sip of water.

“So let me get this straight,” I started as I leaned forward in the recliner, “if it really is that dire—like if it's going to fuck me over at some point, and more so that I was the guy who found Maya laying in the street—or the clone of Maya, I should say—why am I just now hearing about it? Like, why not go public with this? Because it sounds horrifying. Your wife sounded like a real important lynchpin in everything.”

“Well, it's a touchy subject for me,” he contined, “especially after what happened with Metallica on that bus.”

“Right. But of the three of you, you were the one who took it the best. That's what I heard, anyways.”

“I took it the best but I also took it the worst. James and Kirk were agitated beyond belief—I was in over in my head, too, but it was more... I wish I had more time with Cliff. I wish I had more time to rekindle things with him. To call him more than just my friend, but my brother. To take more interest in what he liked. To do more than just tighten the strings on his bass guitars or his boots and maybe buy him breakfast or a drink at one point. To—” He closed his eyes and took in a deep, full breath of oxygen to fill out his chest. “—even so much as say 'thank you' to him, for being my brother. My band mate. And a part of my world.”

“Let them figure out how to thank you,” I muttered under my breath. He opened his eyes and took another drink of water, a slightly larger gulp that time.

“I will tell you this, Joey,” he started again, that time in a lower voice to where he sounded as though he was on the brink of tears, “—I am glad I was able to confess this to you, because—if I am honest, I couldn't hardly say this to either James or Kirk when I was alongside them. It was such a difficult tricky subject for me to talk about that I was about two rounds of tequila of burying the whole story altogether and letting it all come. I want to thank you.”

And I nodded my head at him.

“It's the best I can do, man,” I said. “So—now that this is out in the open, or at least between you and me—what do you think we should do next?”

“Well,” he began again as he set the glass down in his lap, “I just think about—what we talked about in the reservation earlier. To stay on guard, because it's all up in the air right now. My wife died, Candace is now gone... and the clones are insane down in the Big Apple at the moment.”

“Where are they coming from, by the way? I mean—they all look the same. They're all clones, made of—human flesh. They're based off of... somebody. They're comin' from some place and from somebody.”

“Yes, from Maya,” he stated, nonchalant. “Maya Sorenson, whom my wife knew.”

“Yeah, but,” I said, “is there actually a Maya Sorenson, though? Like is she a real person?”

“Yes.” He paused. “...as far as I know.”

“As far as you know?”

“Clones, remember?”

“Well, if she isn't a clone—is she alive?”

He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. He peered off to the side in thought; I could see him piecing it together.

“You know, it's—it's the weirdest thing,” he admitted, “I don't know. I have no idea. My wife died and I fell out of contact with her. I have no clue if she was a clone or the real thing.”

“Oh, well, fuck me sideways.” I leaned back in the recliner chair with my arms upon the armrests. He took another sip of water; I could still hear the water in the shower running, but I also heard a splash upon the shower floor. She had to be almost done at that point.

Mrs. Hamilton was buck naked in my shower. Naked and unafraid and totally real.

“I have no idea—if she was clone or the real thing,” he repeated in a soft voice.

I then leaned back forward so my face was close to him.

“What was she like?” I asked him in a low voice.

“Exactly like the clones—before they malfunction, of course. I do remember she—wore a back brace, like she had a lot of complaints about that part of her body. I remember we had her over for dinner one evening and she had trouble staying in one spot for prolonged lengths of time. She told me it was hard on her back.”

I flashed back to when we were in the City and Frankie drove right into that clone, and it hit the windshield and splattered blood all over the hood and the roof. As far as I knew, it landed on the pavement on its back and died right there. Complete and utter bloodbath aside...

“She suffered from a lot of headaches, too,” he continued, “—like I couldn't play music too loud, otherwise it would hurt her head. I just think about you—doing—that—in the sewers the other night. Bringing all of those clones to their knees and allowing us to find you and Mrs. Hamilton.”

“'Metal Thrashing Mad'?” I recalled with a smirk.

“Exactly!” he replied with a chuckle and another sip of water.

“It would also explain why you've gotten so heavy, too.”

“Exactly,” he repeated in a more somber voice. “It's just—it's hard. It's hard, you know?”

“Stressful,” I suggested. He took one final drink of water and leaned back in the couch cushions.

“I remember the first,” he started as he gazed up to the ceiling overhead, “—I'd say week—week and a half thereabouts—I didn't eat anything. I mean, Candace had enough guts in her to eat fucking paper—I didn't even have that! I might as well have not had running water in my place because I didn't even have that.”

“What changed?”

“Finally couldn't take it anymore. I looked at myself in the mirror and said, 'fuck it.' I just sat down with a big apple pie—”

“Apple danish,” I recalled.

“Apple danish,” he echoed with a nod of his head. “But I sat down with a big apple pie and ate the whole thing by myself. I kept going—eating more pies and more of everything, really. I did not limit myself or restrain myself in any way. And now look at me—all heavy and round, but I still feel strong, though. There is a lot of strength here—it may not look it, kind of like you are, being all skinny.”

“I'm a lot stronger than I look, it couldn't be more true,” I declared in a single breath.

“Mister Hockey Player and—fast runner. It is in fact true that strength comes in all forms.”

I winked at him once he said that.

“But I have become so ravenous,” he continued, “—and yet, I love it. I love the feeling. I love looking down at myself and seeing what I have become, this heavy supposed mess of human emotion, when that couldn't be further from the truth. You ever do something that's considered massively taboo like overeating a lot food that's supposedly bad for you?”

“You are preaching to the choir,” I told him as I thought back to that morning and to lunchtime and all of the food I had eaten.

“It was just—it was euphoric,” he confessed. “It was especially good for me to unleash that from myself, not just because I lost my wife, but—when I was in Danish school, the kids would pick on me for my round face.”

“What?” I was taken aback by that. “Why?”

“Who knows?” he admitted with another shrug of the shoulders. “As far as I knew, having a round face is considered too girly or too feminine. I can only imagine what you've been through being... half Native American and everything, especially after walking around that reservation, but for me... to eat to my heart's desire and come to terms with all of it, I was free. Free from my slender body and from obligations. But—even freedom has its limits.”

“You needed someone to talk to,” I said in a soft voice. “And yeah—when I was playing in bands up here before Anthrax, I would get weird looks from people. You know, I'm this funny lookin' brown skinned boy with a gap in his teeth and it wasn't from dental problems. And yet I could drum and sing like it was nobody's business. I remember when I played in this good sized place up in a town called Plattsburgh—way the hell upstate, it's almost in Canada—and I got so many dirty looks during set up. But once I opened my mouth, it was like 'game over for all you numb nuts.'”

He laughed at that and I leaned back in the recliner once again.

“And when I joined Anthrax, you know, it was totally alien to me. I didn't know what thrash was or anything pertaining to that. I always got a lot of shit for having a cleaner voice in comparison to James or Dave, or Tom for that matter. Hey, a clean voice will mop the floor better than a filthy, snarled one, you know.” He kept on laughing for a few more seconds, and then he looked down at his glass.

“Pretty good tap water here,” he proclaimed.

“Eh, it's alright,” I said with a shrug and a folding of my hands over my lap.

“It beats the ever loving fuck out of the water out in Cali,” he pointed out.

“New York water beat up Cali water and took its lunch money.”

“Yes!”

Speak of the devil, the water pipes stopped running right then and I lifted my head from the recliner cushion.

“Do you need a shower?” I offered him.

“Maybe. I am feeling alright but nothing in comparison to what you have consorted with today.”

“As long as you find a way to damn your own socks when I get my booty in there.”

“Damn my own socks?”

“Wait a minute,” I backed up. “Is it damn or darn?”

“Darn socks,” he corrected me with a puzzled look on his face. “And why would I darn my own socks?”

“I figure it's gonna snow tonight and I would think you'd wear your socks to bed. I don't want your sock feet in my face.”

“That still doesn't explain why there's a problem with darning my own socks.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pointed down at his feet. He raised the side of his left foot a bit, and he spotted the hole.

“That's right on the angle of my foot, though, Joey,” he pointed out.

“A hole is a hole, though—and it gets bloody cold here when it snows. The lake effect don't fuck around, my Danish friend.”

“How am I supposed to darn my own socks?”

I paused for a second. “Duct tape?” I suggested.

“I am not darning my own socks with duct tape,” he scoffed.

“I got a roll of electrician's tape in the kitchen,” I continued.

“I am not darning my socks with tape!”

The bathroom door swung open down the hall and I heard Mrs. Hamilton padding out of there. She emerged from the hallway with her hair dripping wet and her body clothed in nothing more than her skirt and a towel. She smelled like my shampoo and my soap, although she wore both better than I did.

“It's all yours, Joseph,” she informed me with a smile on her face.


	7. bloody mary

It was so good to climb into a shower—it had been such a long day after all. The feeling of the warm water against my body and my head was something I had yearned for even upon waking up or even when Lars and I left with Brick for the hockey rink. Mrs. Hamilton was kind enough to wipe down the inside of the shower after she had used it, and she was kind enough to keep the knit mat down on the floor upon my climbing out.

There was a part of me that wanted her to be in that tiny bathroom, though, but only because I wanted her to scrub my hair for me. I always loved that feeling of having someone else scrub my hair for me; but I had what I had at the moment and there was nothing more I could ask for.

I thought about what Lars had told me before, about his deceased wife. I could admit that it was understandable in that he had difficulty in talking about it with someone but I had this odd feeling within me about it. I kept on thinking about his belching problem, how his breath always smelled like meat immediately following. Surely, there had to be an explanation for it, much like how there was an explanation for everything up to that point.

I stood back and let the shower pour over my chest and shoulders. I brought a hand to my chest to feel it cascading over the backs of my fingers and my knuckles. I took a look down at the fine brown skin on the back of my hand and at the very shape of my fingers, how they crept along all spindly and narrow, much like the legs of a spider.

That dream continued to linger in the back of my mind, too.

Even as the warm water hit my chest, I couldn't help but think back to the full details of it. The very digging into my chest and my stomach and absolutely tearing me to fine sinewy shreds... it made my head itch.

Another thing I didn’t understand about Lars’ explanation was the whole thing about the warehouse.

Why lie like that? Why say that and not expect me to even so much as look over there given it was out in the open? It just made no sense to me as I turned around to rinse out my hair.

I tilted my head back so it would wash over the crown of my head.

Speaking of crowns, I wondered about Scott, Frankie, and Charlie as they bunked over there in Black Orchid. For some reason, I imagined us all becoming a commune of sorts. A small, tightly packed commune there in upstate New York as a bunch of bone broke artists being cared for by a horde of strippers. We would make art, have fun, and if anyone wanted to join us in it, they were more than welcome to do so.

Eat, drink, and be merry because it didn’t matter... we all are going to die and have our flesh reused for something else.

I turned back around for another scrubbing of my chest and my face. I looked down at myself, at my stomach, my hips, and my thighs, as the water made its way down my legs to my ankles and my feet, and towards the drain. The whole shower smelled of my shampoo and my soap, and I was in a state of bliss.

One more rinse and then I switched off the water, and let the residual droplets trickle down from my skin. I reached behind my head to wring out my curls of the remaining water when I caught Mrs. Hamilton and Lars discussing something in the next room.

Something moved out of the corner of my eye, too. Something beyond the shower curtain.

I nudged it back in time to catch the faint wisp of Mrs. Snow right as she faded out into nothing.

Ah, yes, the nurse who loved me.

Of all the ghosts who lived with me there, she was the one I could never figure out the origin of. Mr. Lang was the old man from the military, Vera was a little girl, Nerissa was a troubled vixen, but Mrs. Snow was the oddball of the bunch, kind of like how I was the oddball of Anthrax. The few times I had seen her at night when I couldn’t sleep too well, or I was jarred awake by something, I always thought she had made her way over here from a hospital that ceased to exist by some dark magic.

She wore these pale white scrubs and the first time I got a real good look at her, I noticed the shape of a snake on the left side of her chest. It took me days to figure out that that was the symbol for a medical person, a nurse. But she also had a cross around her neck, so I had always assumed that she was more than a nurse, but a member of the church, too. Which church, I had no idea.

But I always found it interesting that whenever she showed up before me, I was always naked, like she wanted to do something to me for being in the buff. And thus I came up with this theory that she only appeared whenever I was about to get down and get going with myself—the first time I ever saw her was when I lay in bed with no clothes on and I had a little bit of a rise going to boot. I wasn’t using my hands, but there was something going there.

She could blame Nerissa all she wanted but the fact of the matter was that she always came whenever I was naked, and the shower was no exception.

Those white scrubs appeared in the bright bathroom light for a second and then she disappeared. It was right then I reached out to the towel rung for my towel, which I put upon my head first before I wrapped it around my waist.

I rubbed my eyes, and stepped out of the tub and onto the mat down there on the floor. I held the edges of the towel with one hand and used the other to steady myself.

In the next room, I caught the sound of Mrs. Hamilton laughing. I wanted to hurry up and join in on it, but I needed to dry off first and put my clothes back on.

I leaned forward to wipe off the condensation from the surface of the mirror to better look at myself. In the reflection, I gazed into my own two eyes and my own round face, and the black disheveled dripping curls tousled onto one side of my head and over my shoulder. I leaned back to better examine myself, my slender body. I even turned to the side a bit to look at myself.

I thought back to that dream I had had. Laid out on the table, strapped down, and wide awake with no anesthesia and under a thing that gave off x-rays. Remembering it somewhat, I noticed my body was a lot thicker than normal, given my waist was quite thin, narrow in fact, far more narrow than when I first joined Anthrax.

It was like I dreamed about twenty-year-old me getting slashed open and carved for clone making, given my waist was sort of on the full side and the nurse called me a boy. Slaughtering the still slightly adolescent version of myself.

I spotted something behind me and it took me a second to realize it was Mrs. Snow emerging and then vanishing into nothing again.

I wasn’t fully naked given I had a towel around my waist, but I could feel her presence against the right side of my body: when she vanished, a wave of chills shot across my skin from the right side over to my left, and prior to then, I was feeling warm. In fact, the whole bathroom grew cooler within a matter of seconds. I turned my head to the mirror right as the condensation stuck in place and turned to ice crystals.

I swallowed down the burgeoning firm feeling inside of my throat, and fixed the edge of the towel against my waist, and I got the hell out of there. I didn’t care if I had on just a towel—I needed to get away from that freezing room.

Mrs. Hamilton laughed again and Lars joined in with her. I stepped into my room and closed the door part of the way behind me. I strode over to the lamp on my nightstand: bright yellow light shone over every corner of the room.

I gave my hair a toss back from my chest. Still too wet, and being in a room that grew cold within a matter of seconds didn’t help in the least so to speak. I took off the towel and I put it upon the crown of my head to rub those curls dry.

It was oddly warm in my room.

And then I realized one of them turned on the furnace for me. Granted, the thermostat had a mind of its own at times but it was better than standing there in the middle of the room with no clothes on my body. I cocked out my hips a little bit as I pushed my hair up off my neck and my back. I was alone in my room with nothing on. I was letting myself hang out and feel for my own good, before I did anything else.

“Oh, hello, Joey!” Mrs. Hamilton said from behind me. I yelped out and lunged forward—lucky for me, I was right in front of my bed. She still saw my naked ass, though. I pulled the towel down onto my back, but it was useless at that point.

“That won’t be the first time I saw a cute little ass like yours!” she giggled.

“Mrs. Hamilton!” I cried out from the mattress. I lifted my head and shifted myself onto my side. She had poked her head inside but it was still enough for her to see me naked from behind. Some of those still rather wet strands of hair found their way into my mouth.

“Ha, I just wanted to see how you were doing given you were taking a while in the shower just now,” she confessed.

“Can I—“ I stopped to spit out some of the hair. “—can I at the very least get my fat ass in a pair of pants?”

“What about his pants?” Lars called out from the next room.

“He needs ‘em!” Mrs. Hamilton replied.

“Come on!” I groaned.

“You really do have a tight ass, Joey,” she continued. “Nice and tight and full.”

“MRS. HAMILTON!” I shouted.

“Come on back here!” Lars called out again.

“Okay, okay, just you know...” She flashed me a wink

“You like what ya see here?” I cracked; at the end of the day, Mrs. Hamilton was a stripper all about pleasure after all. I might as well lighten up a little bit.

“Exactly! I just saw you flexing your body, I had to take a look. Real sexy and beautiful, Joey.”

She flashed me another wink before she ducked back out to the hallway and closed the door back where it was before to leave me to it. I climbed up onto my hands and caught the towel on my back so it’d stay put there. I then lay it on my dresser so I could put on a fresh change of clothes.

Once I was dressed in clean jeans and a little black knit sweater, I strode out of the room to find out what was going on.

“—surely there must be a way to darn my own socks without a needle,” Lars was saying to Mrs. Hamilton, who had taken her seat on the opposite side of the couch; and then he spotted me as I made my way into the front room. “Ah! There he is! The man of the hour.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout me in here?” I asked them.

“Maybe,” she teased me. “What we were discussing was Lars probably showing us a round of tennis outside before the snow comes in.”

“Where the hell you gonna find a tennis racket outside, though?” I asked them. “I ain’t a tennis player and Brick’s the guy with my hockey stuff. All I got is my jersey and my mask.”

“Mrs. Hamilton was telling me about a series of tennis courts near where the hockey rink is,” Lars explained.

“That’s a school, though,” I pointed out.

“We could still have a little show and tell, though.”

“But all the stuff is going to be packed up, though.”

“I still want to show off what skills I have, though,” he insisted. “I will make my own racket, if I must.”

“You’d need a metal thing and some strings if you gotta make your own racket,” she told him.

“Nah, no, no, no, no, this is making my own racket—kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats!”

“Maybe we should wait ‘til tomorrow?” Mrs. Hamilton asked me in a loud voice.

“Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats!”

“Sounds good by me,” I told her. “I think—“

“Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats!”

“—I think it’s gonna snow here—okay, Lars, I think we get it.”

“I like saying it, though,” he said. “Kumquats! Kumquats! Kumquats!”

“What have we done?” she groaned.

“Nuthin’,” I assured her.

“KUMQUATS! KUMQUATS! KUMQUATS!”

“SHUT IT!” I shrieked. The apartment was silent; within a few seconds, I picked up the faint sound of rain on the roof.

“See? It’s raining now,” I pointed out as I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “No more kumquats unless we’re makin’ a pie or cookies, kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh,” said Lars as he made an okay gesture. “Hey, at least it wasn’t ‘fuck face.’”

“Don’t even think about it,” I said.

“I wasn’t.” He stifled another belch in his mouth, and that time he brought the tips of his fingers to his lips.

“Alright, so for a change of pace and subject,” she started, “what do you think we should do? It’s raining and I don’t feel like leaving just yet.”

“I don’t really have much to eat here, though,” I confessed to her, “so we’re probably gonna have to go again at some point.”

“Hmmm... well, the boys are still back at Black Orchid,” she started, “and I know Cindy and Gwen are getting started on their night shift. The place is still serving food until midnight.”

“I forget to tell you, Joey,” Lars piped up out of the blue right then. “I didn’t realize I had forgotten to tell you about it until I told it to Mrs. Hamilton.”

“What’s that?” I asked him.

“Remember when you asked me that there must be some source for all of the clones of Maya? Like they all must be coming from somewhere?”

“Yeah, of course,” I recalled. “I pointed it out to you.”

He brought a hand to his chest and he looked as though he had eaten something rancid. “Something I learned from my wife prior to her death was that—there is in fact a prototype. Patient zero. ‘Prototype’ is actually a misnomer because it implies there was some experimentation involved when she vowed that that wasn’t the case. But she always referred to her as the prototype.”

“The first one,” she added, her expression serious.

“So do you think that maybe you befriended this prototype?” I asked him as I folded my arms over my chest.

“See, that’s the thing and what I keep saying—I have no idea. All my wife knew was there was in fact a source, a first girl. Just who she really is and if I met her is beyond me.”

“Right, of course,” I said.

“I mention it because—“ He nodded back to Mrs. Hamilton. “—she was talking about potentially having some dinner right now with the both of us and by the power of the human brain, I put two and two together.”

“Some fresh meat,” I said with a little gyration of the head.

“Exactly! Fresh meat as it falls right off of the bone, if you will.” He showed me a sly grin, one which showed off those pearly whites, still pearly white even after he had been let go with such haste.

“I can always go out and get something and bring it back for you two fellas,” she suggested, “and then I can skedaddle out of here afterwards because you look cozy and comfy already, Joey.”

“I am! Just took a shower—still digesting lunch—“ I brought my hands to the real soft but extra slender part of my belly.

“So I shall take my time then,” she said with a smile. With nothing more to add, Mrs. Hamilton stood to her feet and breezed past me to fetch her coat. She hesitated for a second to look at me in the face with her eyes hooded and her lips puckered a bit; she dropped her gaze down to my chest and then back up again, and hung there for a few seconds. And then she kept on going: she put on her coat, and out the door into the beckoning rain.

“I’ll be back, boys,” she promised in a singsong voice.

“We shall await you!” Lars replied with a mimicking tone. Once the door was closed, I returned to him with my hands to my hips.

“Kumquats, Lars?” I demanded.

“What? It’s a funny word, like ‘blubber’ or ‘tinkle’ or—“ He stopped in his tracks.

“Or what?” I asked. He was silent, and his green eyes had widened a little bit. The skin on his face had washed out to an almost pure shade of white. His lips parted a hair. But I could tell something had him pegged right then.

“Lars?” I asked him in a low voice. Slowly, he ran the tip of his tongue along his lips and his eyes grew wider.

“Lars?” I repeated; I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

“Very slowly... look—over—there.”

I did just that: I started with a look over my shoulder and then I turned my body around to find Vera at the kitchen table, right in the same seat where I had put Maya when I found her. In fact, she lay in a similar position with her head down on the table top. Her gaping black holes for eyes stared back at us.

I returned to him and the stunned expression on his face.

“Still think ghosts aren’t real?” I asked him. He didn’t reply. “Lars?”

He climbed to his feet and ambled across the floor to her. He got within a foot away from her when he stopped.

“Which one is this again?” he asked me in a soft voice.

“Vera. She’s a little girl.”

He dropped down to his knees, which allowed her cold presence to spread throughout the room: I could feel it coming down onto my wet hair.

“Dearest Vera—“ Lars started, “—so very young and so very ghostly. I assume it all to be very much so—very Vera—“

“Very Vera?” I echoed; out of the corner of my eye, I noticed ice crystals forming on the little ringlets of hair on the side of my head.

“Tell me what brings you here,” he begged her. She raised her head a bit so as to look at him better; as far as I knew, she was looking in my direction at the same time.

She opened her mouth to say something but I couldn’t exactly hear it from there. Without a sound, she vanished into nothing. Lars then turned towards me and the growing ice crystals on my hair.

“Shit will turn a guy like Joey white,” he muttered; I could tell he was spooked, but also fascinated, like the ghost of that little girl brought something out in him.

“What did she say?” I asked him as I didn’t want to let something as trivial as ice in my hair catch him sideways.

“Blood on the table, I think,” he announced.

“Blood on the table?”

“Yeah—she whispered it to me and I felt it from inside so it was hard to tell exactly. But that’s what it sounded like.”

“There’s no blood on the table, though,” I pointed out; I thought back to the dream.

“At least, not right now anyway,” he corrected me.

“I did have Maya laying there,” I recalled. “She said it to you, though—I didn’t even hear her.”

“Yeah, that’s—odd.”

The rain picked up the pace outside and that was when I started to feel hungry again. Even as much as I had eaten that day, I still found myself getting hungry again after night had fallen. Lars stood to his feet, albeit with a little struggle with one hand on the top of the table. I watched him make his way into the kitchen for another glass of water. This whole thing made me wonder now.

There was something else here. Something I couldn't exactly put my finger on.


	8. i was right

I lay down in my bed to await Lars, who was in the next room seeing Mrs. Hamilton off and switching off the light. I had already stripped off my sweatshirt and my jeans in favor of pajama bottoms and I was more than ready to call it a night. The whole entire time she was out getting us dinner, he kept on saying that he wanted to show off a little more of his tennis skills to me when given the chance.

“Well, it's dark and rainy out right now, Lars—not really the best time to be doin' such a thing at the moment,” I told him. “Aside from the aforementioned school, this really isn't the best place to be playin' tennis.”

“Who said we were going to be playing at the school? I didn't say anything about playing at the school.”

“Well, one of us brought it up—I was sure that was a suggestion of sorts.”

“It was not,” he insisted.

“Then why the hell bother mentioning it if there won't be anythin' that'll come of it?” I asked him.

“Because it was something. It was something. Something is far better than nothing. If there was nothing here, I would suggest going down to Syracuse or some place else.”

“Yeah but you didn't.”

“I know.”

“So yeah, like... I just assumed it, though.”

“And I know you did. To make an assumption is to base off of an observation and therefore, seeing as you observed it, you came to an assumption. Albeit an incorrect one, but you made an assumption.”

“And—your point?”

“My point is exactly what you said. All I am doing is pointing out what you pointed out and you are in turn pointing it out to me and therefore I am pointing it out to myself.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said: “oh, okay.”

“Okay what?”

“What—you—said?”

“Me? You're the one who assumed it.”

“Well, why didn't you add anything, though? My head wouldn't be spinning right now.”

“Because I didn't think you would assume,” he confessed.

“Lars, I'm a dumb hick from out here in the sticks—I assume bullshit all the time. Yeah, it's gotten me into trouble but ya gotta cut me some slack, though.”

“I'd be more than happy to cut you some slack, Joey—just gimme some fabric for a molding of sorts.”

“Says the guy who won't darn his own socks.”

“I cannot darn my own socks!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, you also wanna make your own tennis racket, too. There you go—I just hockey punched a huge hole in your logic.”

He giggled at that.

“What's so funny?” I demanded.

“Just the way you said that,” he replied with a hand up by his mouth. “'There ya goo—I jus' hahckey punched a yuge hole in yer lahgic.”

“Oh, right, like you don't 'ave a weird way'a talkin'—I cannot dahn my ohwn sohcks!” I said that with a big old gyration of my head, too.

“I don't talk like that,” he scoffed, “—at least I hope not.”

“Lars, all the times I've listened to you in interviews—just either on TV or by hearsay, you always sound so proper and prim. Like... I could listen to ya talk for hours. And I'm here like 'hey, y'all, how ya did?' Makes me pale in comparison, y'know?”

“Well—if I'm honest... I don't see that as a trait of being a hick, Joey,” he said. “I see that more as a sign of humility, which is a rare feat with lead singers especially. I wouldn't call you a hick as I would a country boy, like... Cliff was like that. You're humble and I like that. I try to be, but sometimes I don't really have a choice, you know? I have to be forthgoing—I have to the leg work because James and Kirk won't do it, or they don't really have all that much to add.”

“Your band wouldn't be where they are now without you,” I told him.

“And I hate to say it but James has a big case of lead singer's disease at the moment. When I was let go, I could feel it coming on. I figured it was only a matter of time and then the next thing I knew, he looked at me dead in the eye and said 'Lars—it's over. Kirk and I are going to have to ask you to leave.'”

“At least you got looked at,” I assured him. “I got a phone call.”

He gaped at me. “Damn.”

“Yeah, you're tellin' me,” I said with another shake of my head. “But Charlie sounded real remorseful, though—like he said, 'Joey, I really don't wanna be doin' this', and I had a feeling what was going on and then he said it. Now that I look at his behavior in Black Orchid, he still does. Like I knew when he offered me a cup of coffee earlier in Black Orchid, he wanted to make things right between me and him. Like that was the start of repair.”

“I think their becoming homeless had something to do with it, too,” he pointed out with a raise of one eyebrow and a tucking of a lock of hair behind his ear. “Like they went through something terrible and it was like a wake up call to not rid of something precious.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that had sump'n to do with it,” I said with a shake of my head. “Not entirely, but it definitely played a big role in it, though, y'know?”

“Absolutely. But at least they learned their lesson, though. On my end, it was like—Cliff was killed and James and Kirk still went ahead with the decision together. What especially hurts is Metallica was all my idea. I was the one who put the wanted ad in the magazine and James was the one who came to me. It's like, 'you're kicking me out of my band?' You should consider yourself lucky, Joey.”

“You're kinda lucky, too, Lars,” I assured him, “—you've got this cozy li'l apartment here takin' care of you. It's filled with ghosts an' my nonsense, and there's only so much I can do, but I'd rather you be here chillin' with me than out in the cold out in Cali, though.”

“You know, come to think of it—I am lucky. Before I came here, I was doing what Scott, Frank, and Charlie are doing at the moment bunking over at Black Orchid. As lovely as Mrs. Hamilton herself is, I came to a limit over there.”

“How exactly are they staying there?” I asked him.

“There's a loft upstairs—not the loft so to speak, where she, Scott, and I were having our moments together. But there's one over the main atrium, though—there's two beds up there and a bathroom, but that's about it. There's not much to do and I think that's what drove me up the wall when I stayed there. It is better than nothing, sure, but I am lucky to have met you when I did, Joey.”

“And I'm gonna tell you this right now, I ain't precious.”

And right as I said that, Mrs. Hamilton stepped back into the apartment with dinner in her hands. Big helpings of that and a couple of trips to the bathroom later, and I was back laying in my own bed with my hands behind my head. I was feeling all warm and silky again, and I just wanted to fall asleep right there. But I promised Lars that I would stay awake until he slid into bed next to me. I had no idea if he would take off his socks or not before he climbed into bed but I was certain he would come in at any given moment.

I lowered my arms to underneath the blankets: the clash of the warmth under the blankets and the cold feeling on my skin made me shiver, even with my hands right on my stomach. But I was feeling full again and I wanted to nurse the feeling.

I rolled over onto my side with my arm over my waist and my hip cocked out. I just relaxed every inch of myself. I nestled my head down into my pillow a bit more to feel every bit of the warmth. In a way, I almost felt like I had fallen asleep at my parents' house after dinner. I made a mental note to call up my mom in the morning to tell her how everything was going.

I could feel myself falling asleep when I caught the sound of the bedroom door swinging open behind me. Silence.

And then—

FLOP.

And it made the bed shake a bit. I opened my eyes to see him laying next to me on his back and his hair fanned out from his head.

“Did you just jump onto the bed?” I asked him in a muffled voice.

“Kind of,” he replied.

I paused for a second.

“I don't think that was 'kind of',” I admitted.

“No, it—it was,” he said.

“You made the bed shake, though.”

“Because I'm fat, that's why.”

“Oh, right, right—” I closed my eyes again because the feeling needed to be nursed some more.

“Mrs. Hamilton told me she's going to be back here tomorrow morning to take us grocery shopping,” he informed me in a single breath. “She doesn't want this place to be without any legitimate morsel food for a second longer.”

“Oh—good,” I muttered with a shifting of my head so I could better breathe. He lay on top of the blankets so I couldn't move too much.

“You look—very relaxed,” he said.

“I am. Before you came in here, I was about ready to fall asleep.”

“But you stayed awake.”

“Yeah. 'Cause—you're kinda like my buddy now, Lars.”

I opened my eyes to see the soft expression on his face.

“And—you kind are like my buddy, too, Joey,” he added. “Here—”

He climbed up and off of the bed, and to the spot right behind me. I didn't want to roll over to see him, but I could hear his clothes rustling. I felt the blankets peel back down at my feet. Within a few seconds, he had turned off the light. I felt him climb into bed next to me with his head down by my feet; meanwhile, I felt his bare feet make their way up towards my pillow, but he kept them away from me.

I sighed through my nose and relaxed again. Within a matter of seconds, I had fallen asleep.

The dream I had was nothing like the one I had had the night before, in that I wasn't laying on an operating table but laying atop a huge pile of bones and ocean waves. I didn't understand it, either, especially since the waves weren't so much as pulling me along as they were keeping me in a singular place upon the ocean. I took one look down at the bones to find that most of them were from animals: there was a cat skull right underneath my right hip. I noticed I was rendered to nothing more than a skinny little sack of bones myself, far skinnier than I was in real life.

My knees were pointed like pyramids and my legs had lost all of the tight lean muscle I had built up in all that time playing hockey and learning to drum. My stomach had caved in all the way down towards my spine: my belly button was stretched out into a long narrow stripe on the skin. My stomach itself meanwhile was in utter agony from hunger. I could see my ribs jutting out from under the skin. I could feel my heart pounding inside of my chest, which was in sheer agony. I couldn't hardly move from the starvation, given it gave me such a deep and profound ache within me. I needed to get off of this makeshift raft, wherever it was headed to there on the ocean.

I shifted my left foot and everything on the left side ached like crazy; I did the same for the right side and the same story there.

I lay my head back down upon the pile of bones and I could feel something upon my face. Moving my eyes down, I noticed I had no nose. My lips had disappeared too, even though I could pucker them with ease. My skin was gone and I was a sack of bones that had lost its skin within a matter of seconds.

I jarred myself awake to the sound of Lars quietly snoring right next to me and the feeling of his foot right within my spot of my heart, hence the pain in my chest. I ran my hand down my bare belly, which was still quite warm with dinner and still very soft and full. I gazed up into the darkness, to the shadows over my face, and then I let my eyes sink closed. I rolled my head over a bit on the pillow when I felt something brush against the side of my neck.

I opened one eye to see her inky black hair lay itself against me. Her full body was round, heavy, and very smooth, but cold with that ghostly chill. I looked over at Nerissa, who lay over me like the succubus she was, and the succubus I let her be.

Her dark eyes gaped at me like a pair of deep black holes. Her dark lips hung over my face. Usually I would let her kiss me and caress me down while I was laying in bed, but then again, Lars was right there next to me. But then again, Lars probably couldn't wake up if I stayed quiet, and she was usually quiet whenever she appeared before me for a little round of ghost lovin'.

I put my hands underneath my head and let her caress my face and the sides of my neck. I watched her float down towards my collar bones and then my chest, and then she reached my stomach. Her kisses felt like the tips of feathers on my skin; I felt her lifting the elastic band of my pajama bottoms for a peek inside. I closed my eyes as she slipped her fingers down inside for a touch.

Even though she was so cold, so cold and icy and grazing my skin with goose pimples, I was still feeling as warm and soft as ever within. I didn't want this feeling to ever go away. Those same goose pimples made their way across the skin on my shaft, which only made it rise more. I couldn't resist the smile on my face and the warm feeling just continuing to spread throughout my body. She caressed me down right there and I felt so relaxed that all I could do was give soft and sweet little groans inside my throat upon each kiss from her lips. I couldn't help but shift my hips a little bit upon the mattress, but then I remembered Lars was right there next to me.

She gave my head a little kiss before she vanished into thin air.

Sometimes all you need in life following a bad dream is a bunch of dinner and then when there's another bad dream, have a succubus to kiss you good night. I sighed through my nose and caressed my belly with both hands. The warm feeling made me weak at the knees. I couldn't hardly stay awake a second longer.

I fell back asleep, that time into a dreamless bout, and I awoke to Lars' feet right up on my chest. His heel pressed right up on my nipple which made me squirm a little bit, and it didn't help matters that he kept shifting his legs about so it felt like he was trying to pinch my nipples with his feet. I did however have my moment with him in that my feet knocked him right square in the crown of the head.

“Another round of getting kicked in the face, Joseph,” he remarked in a broken voice.

“Hey, at least it's just the back of your head this time,” I pointed out with a clearing of my throat. “I feel like you're givin' me a li'l nipple piercing here. A li'l piercing on a cold day.”

He snickered to himself.

“What's so funny?” I demanded; I opened my eyes and looked down at his softened face, hugged by those blankets and that couch pillow. I noticed the bright white glare outside of the window behind my head, which meant it snowed overnight.

“Again, I just like the way you said that,” he said, “I feel like yer givin' me'a li'l nipple piercin' ahn a cold day.”

“You really wanna try your hand at my accent?” I challenged him as I cleared my throat again. “Park the car down on the lawn by Lake Ontario for a bit o' pop.”

“Pahk the cah down ahn the lahn by Lake Ahntariah fer a bit'a pahp.”

“There ya go!”

I was quick to climb out of bed even though I didn't feel like leaving from under those covers, but I remembered Mrs. Hamilton was coming over for me to have some more things to eat there at my place. I wore the same sweatshirt I wore the night before but that time I put on a fresh pair of pants. Once I had laced up my black boots given the snow outside, there was a knock on the door. Lars was kind enough to answer and Mrs. Hamilton stepped inside of the warmth.

“Good morning, boys,” she greeted us with a jovial smile, “a little change of plans: we're gonna do all that later on today—Scott and Charlie are making us breakfast at Black Orchid.”

“Oh, boy!” Lars declared.

“Also, Joey?” she continued.

“Yeah?”

“Scott wanted me to give you this.” She took out something from her black and silver pocket book and handed it to me.

“What is it?”

“Hold out your hand.”

I did and she dropped it inside of my palm. A little black triangle shape with that logo on the back and the Not Man on the front.

“I guess that was the only thing he could salvage from the fire,” she confessed.

“Oh, wow, really?” To which she nodded.

“I would make a pendant out of that thing,” Lars advised me.

“Well, for now, it's going into my pocket. Just so long as I ain't rolling upside down anywhere.”

Mrs. Hamilton drove Lars and me over to the strip joint, where we were met by that fresh aroma of brewed coffee accompanied with—

“WOW, that's a lot of pancakes!” I proclaimed at the stacks upon stacks of light and fluffy pancakes on that table where we played strip chess, all fresh out of the kitchen.

“Isn't it?” Scott called to me from the doorway with a spatula in one hand and a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, thank you for that pick, by the way,” I told him.

“It's my pleasure, Joey,” he said with a shrug. “And it's what I can do right now.” He ducked back into the kitchen to help Charlie, and that was when Lars guided me to that one hallway, the one with the dressing room and the stairs up to that loft he told me about. Even as we made our way up those creaky wooden steps, I could hear Frankie singing to himself up there. I always thought Frankie should sing more, either alongside me in Anthrax or with his own thing: he had a nice voice.

I caught the soft smell of laundry soap as he had put down fresh sheets on those two beds. Lars had said there wasn't much to do in there: that wasn't what the big long bookshelf against the wall indicated for me. A shelf full of comic books and actual books themselves. In between the beds stood a nightstand with a heavy brass lamp and a small clock about the size of a golden potato. I gazed straight ahead to the window outside to the snow and the rooftops.

“What the hell's goin' on here?” I asked aloud.

“What he said,” Lars added.

“Kinda makin' ourselves at home here,” said Frankie as he smoothed the blanket on the bed closest to the window. “This place was empty and void when we showed up here so the girls helped us give it some life.”

I turned to Lars.

“I thought you said there was nothing to do here?”

“Yeah, there wasn't,” Frankie continued, nonplussed.

“And apparently I missed the boat,” Lars said in a soft voice.

“Two of us sleep head to toe and then we switch every night.”

“That's rough,” I said.

“Eh, not really. If Danny was here with us, it'd be extra rough because we'd be in gridlock here with the beds. I should also tell you guys—”

“Joey—?” Louise's voice called out to me from downstairs. “Lars?”

“What's up?” I called back.

“Is Frankie up there with the two of you?”

“Yes!” said Lars.

“Okay! Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Alright, we're comin' down,” I assured her, and I returned to Frankie. “What were ya gonna say?”

“Danny's coming here. To Oswego.” I gaped at him.

“When?” asked Lars.

“No idea,” Frankie confessed with a shake of his head. “But I guess he tried to call my house but the line was dead 'cause I got evicted, and then he tried to Charlie and nothing. And then he called my mom, and then I called her because I thought she might be worried about Charlie and me—” And then I remembered I had forgotten to call my own mother, ugh. “—and she told me about it. I called him just a little bit ago and he's coming here soon.”

“What's he doin', goin' by paper plane?” I wondered aloud. “Last time I saw him, he wasn't drivin'.”

“No idea how he's getting here,” he continued, “but he told me it's horrifying down there in the Big Apple, and Mom told me the same thing. She's almost afraid to leave the house.”

“Why?” asked Lars. “What's going on?”

“Remember that weird meaty webby shit we saw on the sidewalks the other night? Apparently it's all over the place now. Every sidewalk, every building, all the way down to Jon and Martha's front step. The neon is, too. It's like the whole city became a living breathing partially brain dead organism overnight.” He then rubbed his hands together. “I dunno 'bout you guys, but I am _starving_ right now!”


	9. any last words?

I thought about what Frankie had said before then and I couldn't help but wonder just how much of wealth stood there in Black Orchid. Between Mrs. Hamilton wanting to take me grocery shopping to just her wanting to spoil the absolute shit out of us to the fact the whole place was clean, classy, and ritzy even in a place so down to the ground like 'Swaygo. In fact, I took a second look at her outfit for the day: some fitted black leggings that looked to be made of that real nice lycra you'd see at a fabric place down in Syracuse. They looked brand new, too, like she didn't get them at no thrift shop here like I would do so. She had no pants or a skirt over them, so she wore those things out in the cold open.

She also wore this low plunging black blouse with this frilly shit underneath the collar. All black and classy looking, complete with the studded ring and bracelet on one hand.

Granted, I was a guy who liked his black clothes as much as the next poor fuck but they looked brand new with her, like she just bought them and they still had that new fabric smell. I even brought it up when Scott and I got together in the room downstairs again for our big stacks of pancakes: he and I both had the works on the top with butter and syrup.

“If there's a way down to New York City before Danny gets here, we have to find our way down there,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

“You mean like a nest egg?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Scott, listen to me. There are many things I would do to put up a nest egg—but havin' nuthin' to explain the room upstairs is keepin' me back a bit.”

“They're just tryin' to help us, Joey,” he pointed out as he handed me a fork from the drainer.

“It's just kinda odd to me, though,” I insisted. “You know, when Lars was here—he told me about it, anyway—he said he had nuthin' to do here, and he told me it was a good thing when I showed up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What, he didn't tell you?”

“No. I didn't hear anything like that.”

“Huh.”

I led him to the same table where we played strip chess. Charlie, Frankie, and Lars were still in the kitchen getting their plates together, which left the two of us alone with each other. Scott took his seat next to me, right in the same spot next to me where Cindy sat before.

“How is it?” he asked me once I sloughed off a bite.

“You guys are good,” I said with my free hand over my mouth. Once I swallowed it down, I set that hand in my lap. “We're all at rock bottom but there's only one way out, though.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed with a raise of his coffee mug and a sip from there.

“So Lars had nothing to do here when he was here?” he echoed.

“None at all,” I said. “As far as I know anyways, so we just gotta take his word for it.”

“Huh. That's funny 'cause—” He stopped to clear his throat. “—when we first came here, Mrs. Hamilton pointed out the shelves to us to keep our comic books safe. There was already a shitload of books there.”

“Really?” I set my active hand on the top of the table and turned my head to him. “You guys are so well read, I would think some of those books in there would belong to you.”

“Maybe one or two from me and Charlie, but not at all. Those shelves were mostly filled when we showed up.”

I paused for a second.

“So why would Lars tell me he had nothing to do here when he had plenty,” I muttered myself.

“Good question,” he said with nothing more to add. “Really, Joey—good question.”

“Another thing I wanna know is why a buncha girls like them wanna spoil guys like us.”

“The same reason why I suggested a thing like a nest egg,” Scott pointed out. “Something to help us out while they're helpin' us. But exactly why they're so doting to us, though, if that's what you're asking? I can't say.”

The two of us fell back into silence so we could eat more of the pancakes, which were ridiculous... ly tasty. Light and fluffy and tasting of remorse and broken, spooked hearts. Scott and Charlie really wanted me to take them back, even after such an abrupt end to my tenure. I wasn't the kind of person to hold a grudge, and the pancakes were fantastic and they filled me up at a rather quick pace.

“Lemme say this,” Scott spoke out of the blue once he was done and took a paper napkin out of his jean pocket, “if Lars says anything that's even a little bit 'off', don't be afraid to tell me.”

“You?” I said after I took my last bite and leaned back in the chair. “What about Charlie and Frankie, too?”

“Absolutely, absolutely.” He took out another napkin from his pocket for me and I cleaned off a little bit of syrup on the corner of my mouth. “But come to me, though, because—I was the guy who suggested getting rid of you. And also because you and I are the ones talking about it, too.”

“So just k—” I pulled a Lars himself and let out a little burp. “—eep. Sorry.”

“'Salright. It's just good pancakes is all.”

“Anyways, just keep it between the two of us?”

“Yeah. If Frankie or Charlie ask about it, just say that Lars missed an opportunity while he was stayin' here.”

“So you want me to lie?”

“Yes, but also no. I mean, if you think about it, it is kind of the truth. It sounds like he was so distraught and checked out instead of pulling himself out of it that he missed an opportunity to stand on his own like you did, or the three of us.”

“This all sounds so unlike Lars, too, if I'm honest,” I confessed to him.

“Metallica was his band and he was betrayed by his friends,” he recalled, “and he also lost his wife. Lots of upheaval all at once—I'm guessin' it'd be hard for him to get his shit together. Says the guy who's having a hard time getting his shit together himself.” That last part of which he mumbled under his breath. I cleared my throat as I reached for my cup of coffee.

“You know when I got that phone call from Charlie the other night, I didn't know what to do except go out and take a walk.”

“And you found that girl laying on the sidewalk.”

“I found Maya layin' there.”

“When the studio burned down, it was just incessant—like the flood gates opened and shoved us down the hill ass over teakettle. A lot of upheaval on all our parts. And it's funny how it all came around again.”

“Exactly!” I stifled another one in my throat and then I took a sip of that rich beany coffee. Over the rim of the mug, I noticed him examining my stomach. I set one hand there. It wasn't my mom's cooking for sure, but it was the equivalent of receiving a hug from both Scott and Charlie. And a sincere one at that.

“Well, if you can find a way to fill your stomach and find a place to lay your head, I'd say you're good to go,” he said.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I took another sip of coffee. And then he cleared his throat.

“What I want to know is why you didn't take her to the hospital first when you found her there,” he continued.

“I was on foot,” I said, “I was on foot and it was gonna rain, too. Carryin' a dead body to the hospital in the pouring rain—that just sounds irritating, even from a poetic stand point.”

“It does!” he laughed. “I don't think Anvil's ever gone that far with something like that.” He took another sip of coffee himself.

“Now a rainy sidewalk, or a gutter, or sump'n like a cesspit,” I suggested as I held onto my mug with one hand, “that sounds better.”

“Lay down like a dead body on a rainy sidewalk,” he piped up again with both hands wrapped around the base of the coffee mug. “Down in the cesspit.” He nodded his head. “I can hear that. You really do have a shit ton to offer, Joey. Remember the promise I made?”

“You want me to have more credits on Anthrax's next record,” I recalled; I couldn't resist the fluttery feeling in my chest.

“Absolutely. It'll be for all us. For all us gentlemen.”

“For all kings,” I corrected him.

“That's even better! Consider it me thanking you for being with us and for putting it behind you. I'll do the same, too—I don't know what I was thinking, Joey. So—thank you.” And I couldn't help but wish for Mr. Lang to appear right there with a smile on his face and an assuring nod.

Scott then raised his mug towards me, and I did the same for a toast to the new record. When we would record such a beast of a record was beyond the both of us. But it was something Scott and I both wanted to do.

He and I took swigs of the coffee at the same time; I caught the sound of Frankie's laugh in the kitchen and the sound of Charlie saying something. It would just be kept between me and Scott, and yet I wanted to bring it up to them and maybe do some kind of convincing of sorts. There really was something about all of this that made no sense, like there was a missing piece to all of this, and I had no idea where to even begin with it. Something didn't add up. I might have been a dumb hick from the sticks left out in the cold, but I wasn't that dumb and I was feeling warm, too.

Lars' voice then floated down to my ears from that loft upstairs, or at least so I thought. Gwen's voice followed suit.

“I hope he gets his ass in here,” Scott admitted aloud; he set the mug down before him and folded his arms over the top of the table. He turned his head to the kitchen door. “His pancakes are gonna get cold.”

“If he doesn't eat 'em, I will,” I followed up with a wag of my finger.

“You're so skinny, though, Joey,” he remarked with a glance of my body.

“And?”

“Don't you wanna watch that figure of yours?” he quipped.

“My girlish figure?” I teased him.

“Your girlish figure, yeah.”

“Pancakes'll add to it, though, Scott,” I pointed out. “I am Italian, you know. We are what we eat.”

“Eh, I'm Jewish,” he said with a shrug of the shoulders. “We hold absolutely everything to where we're afraid of letting it go and we also don't care if it ain't salty or not.”

“Salty like a big ol' stick of butter?”

“Salty like a big stick of butter,” he echoed, “and also not.”

“What good is that, though?” I asked, slightly disgusted.

“Like I said, Joey,” he recalled. “We don't care—we literally don't give two fucks if it ain't salty, especially when toast is involved.”

“Toast?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Nah, nah, nah, no, no, no. We're messin' with pasta. Or fried bread courtesy of the Indians, baby.”

“Now that sounds like something my mom'd make,” he said.

“What, fried bread?”

“Yeah. Fried bread next to matzo balls with a side o' oy vay.”

“Oy vay, not a danish?”

I turned my head to find Lars himself standing right in the doorway leading into the front room. His hair had been tousled off to one side and his pants were unbuttoned to where I could see the skin underneath his belly button. Gwen emerged from behind him with a beaming grin on her face and a little black leather corset lined with white lace; I took a second look to see they had gotten about halfway down the front of that lacing given the laces themselves dangled down to her smooth dark thighs.

“What's goin' on here?” Scott asked him with a gesture towards Gwen.

“We were going to have a moment together when—” Lars stifled a belch in his throat. “—she reminded me of the pancakes.”

“In here, Lars!” Frankie called out from the kitchen. Lars stumbled into the room and brushed past me. Scott and I then turned our heads to Gwen standing there with that partially undone corset.

“Fair Guinevere,” I remarked.

“Gorgeous Joe,” she retorted with a grin on her face. Lars returned about as fast as he went with a platter of pancakes.

“I'll be eating this while we're having fun,” he told her; he then turned to me. “So sit tight for a second.”

He left the room before I could tell him that it was just going to be me and Mrs. Hamilton doing the thing together. But then again, she was his ride back to my place.

Indeed, once Scott and I finished our cups of coffee, she moseyed back into the room to take me out to fill up my kitchen. It was just going to be me and her for the time being.

In a weird way, Mrs. Hamilton started to feel like a mom to me. She could never be my mom, for sure, but the way in which she treated me and, when I thought back to that moment in the sewers down in the City, I couldn't help but walk closer to her at one point when she was picking out fruit for me. And yet, she was taking care of me for the moment, I couldn't help but be more than drawn to her. She was only wearing leggings underneath her overcoat after all.

She called Lars “apple danish”, so figure I squirmed a little bit when she picked up a fresh apple off of the pile and took a whiff from the stem. The way a peach was shaped and the way she held a bunch of bananas by the main stem, and the latter went for a bunch of cherries, too. She was Big Mama, and she was Big Mama to me at the moment.

Moreover, she bought me so much fruit. She bought me a lot of food; and when we were checking out, I thought about all the food I had eaten over the last couple of days. I even looked down at my hips and thighs at one point and pictured myself growing fuller there if I kept at it for a week and didn't have anything more going on in that time being.

She was kind enough to drive me back to my place to help me put it all away, even though I was capable of doing it my own.

In the meantime, she said all of ten words to me, which was so odd considering her referring to herself as “Big Mama” towards me and Lars. After I put the cold stuff away, I turned to her there on the other side of the kitchen.

“Is there a reason why you're so quiet with me?” I asked her.

She turned to me with a small separate bunch of cherries in one hand and a bright look on her face.

“Because you're special,” she explained. “If you can spend moments of silence with someone, especially good long moments and stretches of time, it's a sign of comfort. I feel comfy here with you, Joey.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip at the sight of the cherries in that one hand. Right next to that was the bunch of apples there on the table.

“You feel comfy?” I asked her.

“Quite comfy.” She strode on over to me; I swore she had a bit of a swagger to her hips. She brought her face to mine. “Comfy and—soft. All soft and sweet. A beautiful boy like you.”

She held up the cherries to me: they were big and almost perfectly round, and that bright almost perfect shade of red.

“Care for one? If you eat these before I bring Lars back here, I'll turn those cherries into jelly for you.”

I thought about that nickname I gave to myself when I first arrived at the strip club, Jelly Bellardini.

“Jelly?” I took the cherries for myself, right by the stems.

“Jelly,” she repeated.

“Jelly Bellardini,” I said. “That's—my stripper name.”

“Oh, I'm teachin' you well, baby,” she said with a gentle pat on my belly. “Better eat up those cherries.”

She flashed me a wink before she doubled back out of there and out the door. I held the cherries in one hand and gazed on at their sheen for a moment before I lunged for the sink to wash them off. I then leaned back agains the edge of the counter and slowly put one by one into my mouth. Perfectly ripe and everything, and the best way to top off those pancakes. But then again, I couldn't eat the last three. I was feeling way too full. I set them down on the counter next to me and kept my hands on the edge, on either side of my hips so I could relax. I couldn't do it. I needed to rest.

But lucky for me, there was a knock on the door. I groaned in my throat as I made my way over to the front door and pulled it open. I recognized that crown of feathery hair atop that little head, and I recognized that little body that stayed beneath the middle of my chest. He was wrapped up in a big heavy dark overcoat and he looked like he had had several rough nights in a row.

“Danny! What're you doing here?”

Dan tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, but he never said anything. Instead, he reached to the side and took out something from behind the door frame. Something short and small like him, but with thick jet black disheveled hair and those big eyes that hit me sideways. Wrapped up in that overcoat that I remembered so well from that evening after the phone call. Her skin was washed out, way too washed out for me to think she was alive. But she was alive. Her eyes swept over me.

“The prototype,” he declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little tongue-in-cheek reference to the phrase "famous last words" with the chapter title.  
> a little reference to joey's song "cesspit", too


	10. angel eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mrs robinson plays in the background*

“Oh. Oh—my God.”

It had been twenty minutes since Danny showed up with the prototype, and another five minutes before Mrs. Hamilton returned to my place with Lars. I stood over Danny and the prototype as they took their seat there on my couch. She had leaned back against the couch with her hands rested in her lap, and her thighs were separated apart by just a few inches. She looked like she was about to vanish into the couch cushions.

“How'd you find her?” I asked Danny.

“More like—she found me,” he confessed. “After the place burned down, I tried to run down the block to call my wife but I got turned around when I went to go find a pay phone. Something hit me in the head and knocked me out. When I woke up, she stood over me and actually tried to get me to wake up. I asked her who she was and she told me she was a prototype.”

“Like she explained to you the whole thing with the clones?” Lars followed along as he strode into the room.

“Yeah.” Danny tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “She and I have walked the streets together for a couple of days, too. It's so fucking weird down there in New York City, with all the webby shit all over the sidewalk.”

“How'd you get out of there?” I asked him.

“We got to the edge of Manhattan and she and I were able to hitch a ride on a subway—the subways, by the way, are totally vacant. They're driven by ghosts—or corpses. I have no idea, but every part of the subways is fucked up right now. Fucked up and haunted as all hell.”

“The sidewalks are steak and the subways are a graveyard,” Lars concluded with a glance over at me.

“What're you lookin' at me for?” I asked him.

He didn't answer.

“I should also add, that Maya and I couldn't exactly get to Manhattan very quickly because I needed to watch over her a bit,” Danny continued. “She wasn't walking very quickly and she kept wanting to rest every so often.”

“And I would think you guys didn't have much to lay upon, either,” I figured.

“There wasn't, no!”

“Nowhere to lay or sit...” Lars' voice trailed off. He still didn't answer me, but Mrs. Hamilton did from the kitchen.

“Joey?” she called out. I turned my head and leaned forward.

“Yeah?”

“Come in here for a second.”

I raised a finger to Lars and he nodded in response. I made my way into the kitchen to find her holding that final little bunch of cherries in one hand. She used her other hand to gesture for me to come closer to her. I hesitated in front of her, and she brought her lips to the side of my head.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier before I left,” she said; each word, she lowered her voice closer and closer to a whisper. “I wanna overcome the silence between us. I've enjoyed it—but now I want something more from it.”

“Okay,” I slowly said.

“Have a seat, baby,” she whispered into my ear.

“At the table?” I asked her as I felt the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She smiled at me, with those lips are big and lush as those cherries in that hand.

“Have—a—seat,” she repeated. I swallowed down the nervous feeling within me, especially when she used her eyes to gesture down to the floor beneath the sink. I sank down in front of the cabinet under the sink and stayed on my knees. She held the cherries before her face with that smile still plastered on her face.

“These cherries are so ripe,” she remarked.

“They really are,” I agreed with her as I set my hands on my stomach.

“And you didn't finish them, either.”

“I couldn't,” I confessed.

“Aw, that's too bad. I promised a little round of fun if you finished these.”

“I know, I know, but I'm too full, though.”

“I'm sure you've got some more room in there,” she taunted me.

“I don't think there is,” I insisted.

She stooped down to put those cherries right in my face. I looked past her face to find her coat zipped down a bit. Some bare skin even in the face of the cold. She brought her other hand to my stomach and I almost fell backwards.

“Let me feel,” she insisted. “Let me feel you.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, please—”

“I'm going to make you eat more fresh fruit, baby boy.”

“No—God, Mrs. Hamilton, I can't—”

She set the cherries themselves on the counter next to my head, and then she set her hands on either side of my face. She pressed her lips to my forehead, then she dropped them down to the tip of my nose, and then my lips.

“Gwen's right—you are sexy,” she whispered to me; in the next room I could hear Lars, Danny, and Maya conversing with each other about something. I wish I knew what they were saying. “Really sexy indeed.”

I looked over at the cherries on the counter. I didn't want to eat anymore for a little bit; I wanted my stomach to rest for a minute.

But then she reached down below her waist for the band of her leggings.

Oh, that was what she meant.

“Nice juicy apples, baby.” She stood upright and moved her hips closer to my face. “Eat with your hands if you'd like.”

I lowered my gaze to where she put her hands. She shoved her leggings down some more skin. She spread her legs just enough for me to slip tongue inside. I made out the sight of that delicate skin, still delicate even with her being as old as she was. I closed my eyes and clasped onto the sides of her bare thighs.

I stuck my tongue inside.

Right there in my kitchen. On my knees. With Lars, Danny, and Maya in the next room.

And yet I kept at it. I couldn't help it. Mrs. Hamilton gave me an offer I couldn't refuse.

“Mrs. Hamilton?”

I stopped and she rested a hand on the back of my head. She pressed my face right against her crotch.

“Do we have something in the car that can mop up a bit of blood?” he asked her.

“Tissues,” she said; her voice was muffled as if she stood on the other side of a wall, or I was inside of her. I kind of was inside of her, come to think of it.

“Okay—” Lars ducked out of the kitchen and out the front door without questioning what was going on in there. I looked up to the curvature on her belly; I kept looking to the underside of her breasts and that head of hair. She peered down at me with a grin on her face.

“Want a little cream?” she asked me in a soft husky whisper.

“Do you have any?” I asked her.

“Look—”

I did, and I could see that thin sliver of sheen on her lips.

“Every good boy deserves a sundae,” she whispered to me. I moved my tongue in further for a taste.

That was good. That was good!

I could feel my jeans growing tight by the feeling. The front door opened again. I took my tongue out as she moved her mouth back down to my forehead for a kiss in between my bangs. I caressed my face with the pads of her thumbs.

“Good boy,” she whispered. She then tugged her leggings back up her thighs and over her hips. I leaned back onto my legs and ran my tongue over my lips. I wanted a drink of water, and I wanted one especially as she walked by me. I let her walk into the next room, and then I clambered to my feet for a glass from the cupboard. I switched on the faucet and filled it up all the way.

I took a rather large swig from it over the sink. I then held it to my chest to catch my breath. I let out a long low whistle and then stepped out of the kitchen to face them. Danny, Maya, and Lars rounded out that comfy couch. Those two guys sat there with their thighs spread wide open, much like I usually sit myself.

“Somehow, even by looking at your jeans, I can learn about either of you guys' balls with a single glimpse,” said Maya.

“Speak my language, baby girl,” Mrs. Hamilton quipped. I swallowed and then took another swig of water. If it was any compliment to Maya herself, I knew it had to be part of her overcoming all that had happened to her and her sister. Mrs. Hamilton gave her a little toss of her hair back a bit and then she gestured to the recliner chair next to the phone and the couch.

“It's something to exemplify when talking about the beauty of their crotches,” she added; she flashed me a wink. I sighed through my nose and ambled across the floor to the recliner. I took my seat there and kept my eyes fixated on Maya.

To think Lars' wife had something to do with her. More than something. They were friends with each other. I held the glass of water to my chest.

“Lars tells me you're a singer,” she said to me in that soft voice laced with a gentle British accent.

“Me?” was something I actually answered her with.

Danny giggled at me, complete with his fingers pressed to his lips.

“Do you want me to give you a li'l sump'n?” I asked her as I brought the glass to my mouth again.

“Naturally she's curious, Joey,” Lars told me. “I played drums for her when my wife and I first met her.

“I am an artist after all—a writer—so my wish is to connect with other artists. So, please.”

I finished out the glass of water and then set it down on the small table next to my right elbow. I ran my tongue over my lips again: even though I had a mouthful of her just a few minutes before, I didn't have a single crumb of flavor of Mrs. Hamilton on my lips. I cleared my throat and took in a deep inhale of breath through my nose.

“ _I've seen it before_ ,” I started out low and with my eyes closed, “ _it happens all the time... closing the door. You leave the world behind. You're digging for gold, yet throwing away, a fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay_.”

“Oh, man, Joe, I've missed your voice,” Danny remarked.

“It's only been a few days, though,” I pointed out.

“Still!”

“That was glorious,” Maya complimented me without changing her expression. “May I have a word with you in the hallway?”

“Me?” I asked her.

“Yes.”

“Go on, Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton coaxed me. I lifted my right wrist to fix my sleeve which tucked a tiny bit down the inside of my silver metal bracelet. I then stood to my feet to follow Maya into the hallway. The way in which she walked reminded me of a marionette puppet, given her knees pivoted a tiny bit with each step. Her feet almost shuffled across the carpet; I strode up next to her as we stepped away from their earshot.

Once we stood before the bathroom door, she turned to me in almost slow motion. I was thinking she still needed to rest again.

She breathed harder as if she had been running up a flight of stairs. Her skin looked even more pallid than before.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Yes. But I wanted to bring you here is because I am hypnotized by your voice. It's so—so—it's the voice of an angel.”

“Me? An angel? No way.”

“I mean it,” she insisted. “It's so gorgeous. And you are gorgeous. I just want to rock with you.”

“Well, when Anthrax gets a chance, we'll put on a show for you,” I promised her. “I'll make sure you're given a good spot, too.” I flashed her a wink.

“I want to write about it, too,” she continued, “I never want to stop writing about it, either. You are so—underrated, I would say. I want to give you a window for the outside world to look into.”

“You're too kind,” I said to her as I felt my chest swell with excitement.

“It's my job, my dear Joey,” she assured me. I didn't know what to say to her: not long ago, I was sitting right in that chair in the next room with the phone to my ear and hearing Charlie break it to me. It was only a few days ago! But then there I was, just a few feet away and after having Scott vow to me credits and more of a say in the next album, it was followed by hearing this little writer swoon over me right to my face. It was like a dead weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

I didn't know what to tell to her so I set a hand on her shoulder.

Something shocked me right inside of that silver flat bracelet on my wrist. I yanked back my hand and shook it about.

“Are you alright?” she asked me.

“Yeah. It's just—ouch. Ow.”

Another shock, that time right inside of my wrist.

“Ow!”

I wasn't going to let it get me. Not this time. I tried to pry off the bracelet but it felt like something had glued it onto my wrist. I tugged it off of my wrist bones and a hard static shock shot through my wrist. I threw it on the floor.

I rubbed my wrist and looked at her. Her eyes were huge and reminiscent of pools, or the sand baths back on the reservation. I could see glimmers of neon within those pupils, and I knew it wasn't my eyes playing tricks with me.

I thought back to when I first found that one clone on and the sidewalk, and Lars and I were trying to take her to the hospital. Her deceased body sent a shock through the metal and it was because she was a clone. I shook my head about. The dead weight was back on my shoulders and it stood right before me. I doubled back to the living room.

“Guys!” I called out. I almost ran right into Mrs. Hamilton.

“Joey! What's wrong? What's wrong!”

“She's a clone!” I yelped. Not once did Maya change her expression as she ambled at a slow, undulating pace up the hall to meet up with us. Her eyes were huge, like big ink droplets. Lars and Danny gasped.

She was about to malfunction at any second.

“I don't know what he's talking about,” she confessed.

“Look into her eyes,” I told them. “Look!”

“She's a fucking copy!” Lars exclaimed. “A copy that tried to pass off as the original!”

“Man, I'm an idiot...” Danny grumbled.

“It's not your fault, Dan—neither of us knew,” Lars assured him.

“Lars—it's all me,” Maya continued: her voice was so light and airy and yet it grated on the side of my mind.

“What the hell do we do?” Mrs. Hamilton demanded.

“Maya, come with me!” Lars advised her as he climbed to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked him; it sounded as though her voice had been pitch shifted a little bit. A little lower.

“Just come with me—” He took her by the hand and led her outside. I thought about when we were in the City and I saw Danny through the windshield, but I had no idea if he saw me at all. Lars guided Maya outside to the pouring rain. I had no idea where they headed but I turned to Danny.

“Did you see us down in the City the other night?” I asked him.

“No, I did see one of those clones eating some poor bastard, though,” he answered with a running of his fingers through his hair. “And she—that version of Maya—told me to keep on walking.”

“But you didn't see Mrs. Hamilton's car there, though?”

To which he shook his head. Lars then darted back into the apartment. He shut and locked the door behind him.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“Come back out here,” she shouted. “Help me!”

“Who wants coffee?” Mrs. Hamilton offered us.

“Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!”

Her voice warped and morphed into something I couldn't even describe.

“Joey, sing something!” Lars declared.

“—why?” I sputtered.

“Because when you and Mrs. Hamilton were in the sewers you shrieked so loud that it killed all of those prototypes!”

“There are no bats here, Lars!” I pointed out.

“Help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—” Her voice twisted and contorted into a blurred deep mess of nothing.

“Dan, did she eat anything before you brought her here?” Lars asked.

“No, I was just gonna ask Joe if he had sump'n to eat 'cause he's the only guy from Oswego I know,” Danny replied.

“—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—mehelpmhelmehelpmehelpmehelp—”

“Ate some poor bastard down in the City,” I said aloud.

Silence outside.

Lars turned around and peered out the peephole.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“A ways away from the front step and away from your front door,” he told me.

“By the way, I'd love a cup of coffee,” Danny piped up to Mrs. Hamilton.

“I'm still digestin' cherries and a big fat stack of pancakes,” I said.

“Let's go back to Black Orchid,” Mrs. Hamilton suggested. “See if the gang's alright at the moment.”

“And I'm lockin' the fuckin' door,” I said at a quick clip. We put on our coats and I swiped my keys—I also put my bracelet back on because I knew it would help us if given the chance. I locked the door but I knew if something happened, I had four ghosts there in the apartment to protect it.

Indeed, when we headed out, Maya had collapsed onto the sidewalk and melted into a huge puddle of blood and broken machinery that looked to be made of neon, a tiny bit of metal, and human skin and bones.

Not the prototype. Not the original.

Just another clone.

Which meant the prototype herself was still out there somewhere.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics to cold as ice by foreigner included!


	11. kill or be killed

“Alright, gang, listen up,” Mrs. Hamilton started once we had arrived back at Black Orchid.

“Danny!” Scott exclaimed when he saw him standing next to me near the front door.

“Hey!” Dan followed up.

“What happened to you?” asked Charlie.

“I went to find a phone and got lost!”

“He also found a clone,” I chimed in.

“Yeah, Danny here found a clone and she malfunctioned,” Mrs. Hamilton continued, unfazed by it all. “And so Lars put her outside and she literally had a meltdown. We came here to check on all of you to make sure you're alright.”

“Yeah, we're good,” Scott replied with a sigh of relief and a glimpse over at Frankie and Charlie. “We were just about to come on over to Joey's place to do the same thing.”

“We were about to get something to eat, too,” Charlie added. “The three of us and the girls, too. Just head on over to the grocery store and fill up the fridge in the kitchen again.”

“Mrs. Hamilton offered us coffee, though,” Danny pointed out.

“We're out of that, too,” Frankie confessed with a shrug.

“Well, let's get on it then!” Mrs. Hamilton declared. I looked over at Lars right as he had this look on his face like he was about to barf or something. “Actually, I'll go forth with it.”

“Are you sure you don't want Joey and me to tag along?” he asked her.

“Oh, Lars, that's real sweet of you. But I'm sure I can get it just fine, though. I'll be right back, too.”

“She really can, Lars,” I assured him. He sighed through his nose and the look on his face was one of disappointment. Mrs. Hamilton doubled back outside to the cold, and I returned to the front room there, just as Scott asked us about Maya.

“She looked like a regular human,” Danny elaborated, “with blood and guts and bones—but she also had a tiny little bit of neon inside her. Like—she was a robot, a clone, sure... but she was made of skin and bones like a regular human.”

“Remember when we were down in the City and Frankie ran into that one clone?” I recalled.

“How could we forget...” Frankie's voice trailed off as he took a sip of water.

“Complete and utter bloodbath,” I said.

“Yeah, it was like that there, too,” Danny continued. I looked over at Lars as he had this look on his face like something ate at him. His eyes were large and he shifted his weight a lot in that single spot. I still had no idea where the bathroom was in that strip club, either.

“Hey, Lili—” Louise called from the kitchen. “Oh, hey, guys.”

“Mrs. Hamilton went to the supermarket,” Danny told her. “She'll be back.”

“Okay, okay...”

“Joey?” Lars called to me.

“Yeah?” He had backed up to the hallway, right to the entry way there

“May I have a word with you in private, please?”

“Uh, sure?” I turned to Scott, Danny, Frankie, and Charlie, all of whom looked at me, puzzled. Lars ducked away into the hall; before I stepped in there myself, Scott whispered my name. I looked back at his raising an eyebrow at me, to which I shrugged at him. I thought about the secret between me and him as Lars led me up to that loft on the next floor.

I could hear him breathing hard and heavy as if he had been running a mile. He stood before the bed closest to the door with his back to me.

“Close the door please,” he advised me. I did, and then I tucked my hands into my pockets.

“What's wrong?” I asked him. He sighed through his nose but never turned around. “Lars? What's wrong?”

He then turned around and looked on at me with a solemn expression on his face.

“Have a seat,” he gestured to the space on the bed next to him. I took a seat there and then he followed suit. I could only think about the secret between me and Scott as I examined his somber expression and his hands right in between his thighs.

“Is this about this room here?” I asked him.

“No, no, no—but I need to get something off my chest, though,” he started. “And I trust you the most, too. Because it is—” He cleared his throat and stifled another belch in there, too. “It's—pretty significant. I wanted to tell you when we had a moment alone but I never could find it because either one of us had to do something or Mrs. Hamilton or someone was within earshot. I don't want her to know this, and I never wanted her to know about this, either.”

I knitted my eyebrows together. “What is it?” I asked him. Surely, it couldn't be _that_ serious.

He fetched up a sigh and closed his eyes.

“Surely, it can't be that bad, Lars,” I assured him as I inched closer to him there on the bed. He and I had broken the ice between us already: whatever he had to share with me perhaps couldn't be so awful as he believed. Or so I believed.

“It is, Joey,” he blathered with shakes of his head. “I fucked up. I fucked up bad. So ungodly bad.”

“What did you do?” I moved my head in closer to his.

He bowed his head.

“Lars?” I lowered my voice to a near whisper. “Lars, what did you do.”

“I killed her,” he confessed with his eyes still snapped shut.

“Who, Maya?”

“No. My wife.”

I gaped at him. He opened his eyes and lifted his head at me.

“I killed my wife.”

I almost gagged. “W-Why?” I sputtered; I felt nauseous.

“To protect her. You know everything I said was true, except I left that part out. I didn't like how stressed she was getting.”

“So you—you—you fuckin—”

“Put a rope to her throat and yanked back. And then—because I knew I was going to catch hell for it—”

“Catch hell?!” I stammered, and I almost choked on my own spit at that. “Lars, that's the fuckin' least of your problems. You know that, right?”

“I cut her up and began eating her,” he blurted out. I stopped.

“What,” I said.

“I cut her up and began eating her. It was the only way out—out of it. I ate other things on top of her to rid of the taste from my mouth. But yes—I am eating her.”

“E-Eating,” I sputtered; my stomach turned so much, I thought it was going to twist itself around my spine. He opened his coat and took out a little plastic Tupperware container with a smooth black lid. Crammed inside was some sliced meat that resembled to roast beef, albeit raw given it was bright red. And then I realized what he was talking about.

“Ohhhhh—” I scrambled back from him towards the foot of the bed. For all I knew, he had marinated it in her blood.

“What?” he asked me, completely nonplussed. “It's not going to hurt you. It's like sliced lunch meat. It's a bit stringy and tough in some spots so I took some of the more tender meat for the road.”

“What the fuck, you're still eating her?!” I shrieked.

“Shhhh!” he hissed at me with a finger up to his lips. “Keep your voice down!”

I clasped a hand over my mouth and the two of us glanced over at the door for a good long minute. Silence out there. Nobody came. I lowered my hand.

“You kept eating her?” I demanded in a hushed voice.

“There was just—a lot. Too much too soon. I had a feeling I was going to be here a while so I took some of her with me. I sliced her up fine and then added some salt and pepper for flavor, and then put her in the oven. The rest of her is in a freezer behind the supermarket here in Oswego. I offered to come along with Mrs. Hamilton over there because I forgot today was trash day. Completely forgot about it.”

I looked on at Lars' body. And then it made sense. The belching. The fact he was heavy. HE'S BROUGHT A DEAD WOMAN HERE WITH US, GOD DAMN IT!

“Well,” I swallowed and kept a hand to my stomach, “what do you think we should do?”

“That is my worry,” he continued with a concerned look on his face, “that I am unable to get there in time before the remainder of her carcass is tossed away and I'm dead meat.”

“Dead meat along with her,” I felt so sick.

“Except I won't get sliced up.”

“You sure about that?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Memories of the warehouse hit me, too. I could only imagine what the foray would be like if someone killed their fucking spouse and the punishment included getting sliced and diced into fucking lunch meat to comprise of clones of Maya. At least, that was my imagination. I had no idea what the goal was all about, if Candace's journal was anything to go by.

“Lars? Joey?” Charlie's voice called up the stairwell. I gasped.

“Shit! Put it away!” I told him with a gesture to the container.

“I don't really comfortable putting it back in my coat, though!” he insisted.

“You think I feel comfortable seeing that fucking thing out in the open?” I demanded as the sick feeling returned to my stomach. “Put it away!”

“You put it away!” He shoved it towards me.

“No! I feel sick to my stomach just looking at it!”

“It's in fucking Tupperware, Joey—it's not like it's going to jump out at you!”

“It's your fucking wife, Lars! Container or not, I ain't touching lunch meat made from your fucking wife!”

The door opened and Charlie stepped into the room. Lars still cradled that container in his hand and I was clear on the other side of the bed. Charlie looked at the container with his eyes widened a bit.

“What the hell is that,” he asked in a low voice.

“Charlie, close the door,” Lars told him.

“Why?”

“Don't question it, Char, just do it,” I told him. Charlie stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

“This is—my—secret stash of—pastrami,” said Lars at a slow pace.

“Why didn't you say anything, man?” Charlie asked him with a chuckle. “I love pastrami, and I know Joey does, too.”

“Best sandwiches—ever,” I stammered as I struggled to keep my composure.

“Right next to meatballs!” Charlie added with a twinkle in those beetle like dark eyes.

“Because—Mrs. Hamilton doesn't care for it too much,” he continued. “And it's been in my coat so it's not very cold.”

He shook his head. “That's alright. Can I have a piece?”

I swallowed and lowered my gaze to the container. Lars peeled off that lid: we were met with a smell that reminded me of fresh cured lunch meat. He made her and kept her preserved, just to be put on a sandwich.

But then Charlie took the first slice from the top and stuck it in his mouth. I thought I was going to barf right there.

“What the hell, Lars,” he said with his mouth full.

“What's wrong with it?”

“Nothin',” Charlie assured him; I could see the sinews of blood and tissue on his teeth. “But why'd you keep it a secret, though?”

“Because, like I said—Mrs. Hamilton doesn't care for it too much.”

“Really? Because the first night we were here, she made us roast beef and potatoes and she gobbled it up like it was nothin'.”

“She probably only did it because she didn't want you guys to feel lonely,” Lars assured him. Charlie nodded and then he turned to me as he picked his teeth with his nail.

“Joey, you okay? You look like you're about to pass out, dude.”

“Oh—he's still kind of spooked from Maya earlier,” Lars told him as he put the lid back onto the container.

“Oh, no, hey! Keep that open! I'm gonna see if Scott, Frankie, and Danny want some—that was good.”

“I think Mrs. Hamilton might be getting something for us in a bit here, though,” he insisted.

“True, true... and you both know how the three of them can be when there's a secret stash of goodies abound.”

“Absolutely!” Lars chirped.

“Yeah...” I moaned. Charlie picked at his teeth a little more.

“The one complaint I have is it's a little bit stringy,” he remarked with a knitting of his eyebrows, “and it's a little more chicken-y than I like. But otherwise, that's about it and I kinda get it, too, 'cause you had it hidden away in your coat. As for myself, I'm gonna get a drink of water...” He then doubled back and headed out of there. Lars let out a low whistle and I lay down across the foot of the bed, down on my back.

“I was not expecting that,” he confessed; he then turned to look at me. “And before you ask, Joey—what was I supposed to do? Tell him that I have my wife in this container here?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed as I brought the backs of my hands to my forehead. I closed my eyes to ease the sick feeling inside my stomach but it was useless: I kept seeing Charlie just... just... _eat it_. Without question. I should have stopped him, but then again—what was I supposed to do?

“You know, it's just hard to do so,” he continued as he lay down on the bed next to me. He set the container on top of the mattress, right between our heads.

“'Cause there's a lot,” I said.

“Right. That's why when Mrs. Hamilton was in the shower, I was able to unload on you like that. Seeing as she will be back within time, I had no time to explain it to him.”

“You still could'a said sump'n.”

“Like what? 'Oh, hey, Charlie, there's human meat in here. Don't eat it.'”

“Explain it real quick to him—maybe?”

“Nah, he would never buy it. There's too much. Besides—he already ate it.”

“What're we gonna tell him now?” I asked him.

“No idea. But I hope we can be able to tell him, and also Scott, Dan, and Frank, too. I killed my wife, ate some of her, and then fed a little piece of her to Charlie.”

“At least you didn't make a pie with her,” I pointed out.

“Well...” His voice trailed off.

“Oh, God, Lars, don't tell me.”

He lowered his gaze to the container.

“Don't fucking tell me you made a fucking pie of her. What the fuck.”

“No... it's not like that,” he corrected me.

“What do you mean?”

“You say 'pie' like—” He stopped with a look at me dead in the face. And then I realized what he was saying.

“Oh,” I breathed out. “Oh—dear—god—you're tellin' me that—that—right there is—” I gestured to the container, to which he nodded his head.

“Let's just say I, uh—” He cleared his throat. “—um—wanted to taste her a little more one last time. Make love and dance with her—eat her ass, too. Some of her ass is in there, too.”

I thought back to earlier, when in my own kitchen, I stuck my tongue inside of Mrs. Hamilton's lips, and I could only assume how Charlie would react when someone told him that he ate out Lars' wife. I swallowed as another wave of nausea swept over me, followed by a wave of confusion. I didn't know what to think or say right then. Except—

“So, let me get this straight,” I started, “you—killed her and then started eating her because you were afraid of getting caught.” I rolled my head over the top of the covers to look at him.

“Yes.”

“Is that why you and I never got caught when we took that one dead clone to the hospital?”

“Actually—I was hoping you would ask me about that at some point. We didn't caught because my wife knew Maya. It's like a de facto knowing of her. We didn't get caught because the assumption was that I knew her and you helped me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that all the shit that's going down in New York City has already come upstate.”

“Why didn't say anything, though?”

“Because I killed my wife. I went through all that because I needed a means of proving to myself that I killed her for the best.”

“Dude, you fucking killed her and made her pussy into lunch meat and fed it to Charlie,” I scoffed.

“I am aware, Joey,” he insisted, vehement. “I also did it and wanted you guys to get into it because this is New York. This whole shtick is centered within New York. When my wife was alive, we came here often—and not just because Metallica is close to Anthrax, either.”

I then lifted myself onto my elbows and gaped at him.

“Are you saying you burned down Anthrax's studio down in the City?” I demanded.

“What? No!” He scrambled upright himself.

“Well, you said you wanted us to be a part of it, too,” I pointed out with a nod of my head. “I just made the assumption that that was what you meant.”

“Joey, do you remember our discussion about assumptions?”

“Pfff, how could I forget?” I rolled my eyes.

“I didn't burn it down—but I think I know who did, though.”

“Who?” I asked him.

“Candace.”

“Candace? Why would she do that?”

“For the exact same reason. I wanted you guys to be a part of it, and I guess she must've read my mind and nudged them out of it herself.”

I thought about the candles in that one room in the warehouse. The muttering nonsense as she shoveled those pages into her mouth. Of course!

“Joey? Lars?” Frankie that time.

“Yeah?” Lars called out.

“Mrs. Hamilton's back! Could you guys come help us?”

“Sure thing!” He returned to me.

“What do you think we should do with it?” I asked him.

He then raised a finger at me. He took the container off of the bed and ducked behind the side.

“Oh, jeez, Lars, don't put it there!” I scoffed as I realized where he had put it.

“Why? It's a good spot and there's nothing underneath here. Doubt the three of them will take a look under here at any given point.” He then stood up and held out a hand for me. The skin was clean so I reached for it and stood to my feet next to him.

“Not a word,” he told me in a low voice.

“Like I'm gonna go around and be like 'hey, Lars has a container full of his dead wife stashed under the bed',” I cracked. He rolled his eyes and led me out of the room. The two of us made our way downstairs, where we were met with Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Louise.

“Where is Mrs. Hamilton?” Lars wondered aloud.

“And Scott?” I added.

“She broke down a couple of blocks away,” Frankie explained as he put on his jacket. “Scott already walked down there to make sure she's alright. That piece of shit car, man...”

I adjusted the lapels on my jacket as I followed them outside to the blustery cold. It got so cold so fast and I knew the lake effect was upon us again. The sick feeling in my stomach was replaced by a pitted feeling. A pit sinking deeper inside my poor stomach.

Something was going to happen. I could feel it.

Indeed, we didn't even get a block away from Black Orchid when I caught the sound of the garbage truck up the block. I turned to Lars and the worried look on his face; Frankie, Charlie, and Danny were right in front of us, and Louise lingered behind us, so Lars couldn't say anything to me right then.

But he could break into a run across the street.

“Whoa, hey, Lars!” Frankie called after him. “Where ya going, man?”

“Lars!” Charlie followed up given Lars didn't look behind him. “Lars, what's the matter?”

I glanced behind me to make sure no cars were coming. I darted across the cold blacktop after him.

“Joey!” Danny called after me. The soles of our shoes echoed over the pavement as I chased after Lars. He leapt over a row of evergreen bushes to a stretch of short dead grass and cold dirt. On the far side of it was one of the side streets leading to the main street. I spotted the garbage truck up ahead at the corner, ready to hang a left.

I knew where he was going. I knew exactly where he was going.

He might have been big but he was an athlete like me: but I was also more active than him and I did more moving around on a hockey rink. I caught up with him but I didn't stop him. Instead I ran alongside him.

“The place?” I asked him, out of breath.

“You know it!” he declared as we ran parallel clear across the dirt. I could hear Mrs. Hamilton's convoluted Pennsylvania Dutch accent behind us as we made our way to the street.

But that truck was faster than us. They reached the back parking lot before we did, but I was determined to reach it first as we crossed the street. I was the fast runner.

Right.

I tripped on a flat piece of sidewalk and fell ass over teakettle into a bush.

“Joey!” Lars shouted. I rolled over onto the branch right as he leapt over me. My chest swelled as I struggled to catch my breath. I spat out a few pine needles and I turned my head to see Frankie and Charlie running towards me. I coughed a little given I ran so hard and fast just then that it did a number on my lungs and my throat. I crawled out of that bush and onto the grass, and took a seat there to catch my breath. Over the roar of the trash truck, I wondered where Lars had run to. I wondered where Scott was given I didn't hear his big Queens accent with Mrs. Hamilton.

“Joey!” Frankie called out to me once they came within earshot. “Joey, you alright?”

“Oh yeah—I've done worse before,” I assured them.

“He may be skinny but he's tough,” Charlie added. Mrs. Hamilton and Danny ran up the sidewalk right then; I couldn't hear a thing they were saying given the trash truck made too much racket with the dumpsters behind the supermarket. But once my breath was steady, I climbed to my feet and stepped through the bushes to the pavement.

Lars hurried up to me right then with a flustered look on his face.

“What happened, Lars?” Mrs. Hamilton asked him. “Throw something away by accident?”

“I didn't make it,” he confessed to us, but actually me in a low voice. “I did see some poor bastard crawl inside one of the dumpsters and then the truck took him—away...” His voice trailed off. We were silent.

“Oh, shit,” Charlie sputtered.

“What's wrong?” Mrs. Hamilton asked him.

“Where's Scott,” I said aloud.

“Oh, shit!” Charlie exclaimed; I thought back to what he said it being trash day.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” Lars screeched. He turned to me with a worried look on his face. “I knew this was going to happen!”

I shook my head at him. “Huh?!”

But he didn't reply. Instead, he peered about the parking lot like a lost child.

“—Scott!” Charlie shouted. “Scott! SCOTT!”


	12. come for me

“Louise!” Mrs. Hamilton shouted from the corner. “ _Louise_!”

She poked her head out of the back passenger window; Danny meanwhile raised his head from the actual passenger side of the car. The bunch of us jogged across the pavement to the front fender.

“The trash truck fucking took Scott away to the dump,” Frankie said in a single breath to Danny.

“Oh, my God, really?”

“Yeah. Lars threw something away by accident and Scott happened to be over there, too.”

“You can see what happened next,” Charlie added, panting.

“Alright, gentlemen, we're gonna have to push,” Mrs. Hamilton announced to us with a rubbing of her hands together. “Louise, you're going to have to get behind the wheel.” Louise climbed out of the back seat and behind the wheel; Mrs. Hamilton herself meanwhile took to the front seat next to her. She set her hands on either side of the wheel while the bunch of us congregated at the back of the car. Lars and I were nestled against each other behind the left tail light.

“I'm already getting a stitch,” he told me over Mrs. Hamilton's direction from the front passenger seat.

“You didn't hardly eat today,” I pointed out to him as we pushed the car from the back.

“Not really, no. I snuck a little before we went back to your place.”

“Aw—oh—ow! Oh, man, you ever gonna run out of it?” I demanded into his ear.

“Apparently so seeing as they took the remainder of her corpse,” he chided in a single breath.

The five of us picked up the pace and once we reached a good speed, we backed off and let the car coast a bit. Louise struggled to get the thing running. Meanwhile, Frankie and Danny turned to me.

“Where's the dump here, Joey?” the latter asked me.

“It's clear on the other side of town,” I told him, “we could get there on foot—I have many times, but it's kind of a bitch, though, especially since I think it might snow.”

“Well, fuck,” Frankie grumbled.

“Yeah, that's what I'm thinkin', too.” I looked down the street to find the car going off the side. That little market where we met Candace all over again, except there was a plain old sidewalk in lieu of a transformer. The passenger side of the car rolled up onto the curb; Louise shouted something.

“Looks like they lost the steering?” Lars wondered aloud.

“I haven't the foggiest,” Danny confessed in a low voice.

“Louise!” I heard Mrs. Hamilton declare. They came to an abrupt halt with the passenger side up on the sidewalk.

“The steering and maybe the brakes, too?” Charlie continued.

“In other words, that car is toast,” I concluded. The passenger side door swung open and Mrs. Hamilton climbed out; those sleek slinky boots clomped onto the sidewalk like horse's hooves.

“Grab the radar detector, too,” I heard her tell Louise. Louise said something.

“It's in the glove box.” Louise said something.  
“What? I swore it was in there!”

“Oh, dear,” Lars grumbled.

“By the way, of all people, I've always wondered why Mrs. Hamilton even has a radar detector,” Frankie confessed.

“That's a good question,” I said.

“Ugh—alright,” Mrs. Hamilton concluded with a sigh. “Here, I'll help you.”

She leaned in with both hands. She almost lost her balance helping Louise out of the front seat, but she managed to catch herself on the sidewalk. Louise closed the door and then she locked it herself.

“Looks like we're hoofin' it,” I said to them.

“Unless Mrs. Hamilton has a plan B,” Lars pointed out.

“As far as I know, there's no plan B,” Frankie argued.

“How'd you guys even get up here, by the way?” Lars asked them.

“Same way Danny did,” Charlie explained. “Just hitched a ride from the heart of New York City and got our asses up here because we knew upstate would be safe and a good place for us to lay low for a while.”

“So we're walking over to the dump?” Lars groaned.

“Apparently so,” Mrs. Hamilton said with a grim tone to her voice.

“Should'a darned your own damn socks while you were at my place,” I told him, and he raised a hand to slap me on the shoulder.

“Unless the busses are going?” Louise asked me.

“Today's Sunday, though,” I pointed out.

“Oh, damn.”

“Don't you have a car, though?” I asked her.

“I do, but it's in the shop. I usually walk to Black Orchid from my place.”

“And Cindy and Gwen have today off, too,” Mrs. Hamilton added.

“It's alright, though,” I told her. “I've walked from my parents' house by the lake shore to over that way with my old hockey buddies in the past before. It's kind of long, but it's not _that_ long, though. It's not like we're walkin' down to Syracuse.”

I led the way to the other side of town. We got, I'd say, about five blocks from the supermarket when the lake effect began to take hold. I peered over my left shoulder to behold the sight of the clouds rising from the cold dark surface of Lake Ontario. Not that long, but it felt that way when it started snowing.

“Are you sure it's this way, Joey?” Mrs. Hamilton called up to me at one point.

“He's from here, Lili,” Louise answered for me. “I'm sure he knows it's this way—”

But to be honest, I really had no clue where I was going, especially since the lake effect did more to throw me than anything. I also kept expecting to see another clone of Maya laying on the sidewalk before us, just like on that one night.

I also kept thinking about what Lars did. The man killed his wife and not only lied to me about it, but he also cut her up into slices like she was a carcass or something, and proceeded to eat her. And he put the remainder of her dead body in that dumpster for safe keeping.

Scott probably found it and got curious, and it made me more nauseous than the very sight of Charlie eating a slice of the dead wife without his knowing what he had put into his mouth. At least, that was my hope. For all I knew, Scott could have found another clone.

And right as that thought crossed my mind, I spotted something in the middle of the street, just prior to the intersection. Something small, dark, and... bloody. Bloody right on the pavement. Like someone had hit someone else's dog and killed it right there. It didn't help matters that I saw something shiny on one side of the object, either, which made me think of a dog's eye. And yet it looked flattened as we got closer to it. Someone hit someone else's dog and flattened it like a fucking rubber band, eyes included?

Someone hit someone else's dog and flattened it and put a shoe on it?

No.  
“What the hell is it?” Louise wondered aloud. The bunch of us congregated around it.

“Looks like a—a foot,” Charlie stated. Like someone lost their foot at the ankle and kept their shoe on, and the outside of the shoe was then caked in blood.

“There's another one up there,” Frankie pointed to across the intersection. Indeed, we crossed the intersection to find a second foot. Following that was a line of pure unadulterated blood on the pavement. I could only assume, much to Lars' chagrin, that the blood would take us to the dump. Whether it was his wife's blood or from something else was beyond me.

“It's a trail,” I concluded.

“Scott probably knew we'd be following him,” Charlie figured, “so he gave us a trail to lead us there.”

“A trail of blood to lead you home,” Mrs. Hamilton said aloud.

Indeed, we kept at it along the pavement with our eyes glued to the trail of blood there. Every so often, I glanced to my left to make sure the lake effect snow was not yet there. And every so often, there was a body part on the pavement, albeit parts that looked real and also fake at the same time: there was a piece of an arm of which we walked by which had a tiny glimmer of neon light inside of the flesh. Scott must have found a clone in the back of the trash truck and gave it hell.

The wind picked up as we neared the other side of town and what I remembered was the dump. Somewhere in those piles was Scott, and somewhere next to him was the sliced and diced corpse of Lars' wife.

Sure, I knew my way around 'Swaygo. And sure, I walked that distance before. But after sprinting after Lars up a single block, eating it in a bush—a literal one plus Mrs. Hamilton's bush—and pushing a car, I was exhausted. The trail of blood seemed to run into itself, or I was running myself into the trail of blood, I don't know.

But I recognized the outer white concrete walls accompanied with a chain link fence. The trail of blood stopped at the driveway, but this place wasn't all that big. Just a single dirt lot with a bunch of trash and shit stacked up for the time being before it was taken down to the incinerator or other places, given most people there didn't know the difference between throwing something in the green garbage can or the regular one for that matter, from their own ass. I rounded the left side of the concrete walls, past the front entrance so we wouldn't have to deal with the front gate. I had this feeling, this feeling that reignited within me after Scott and I rekindled things between us. I could trust him. I could trust him again.

I reached about a foot from the front entrance when within my line of sight, I noticed a peculiar pile of trash consisting of an old television, a mattress, and—

“Scott!” Frankie called out.

He had nestled up before a small stack of old magazines and comic books, things people had just thrown out at leisure. I spotted something else next to him. Even in the dim light, I could make out the sight of arms and legs, albeit listless ones. Scott had cozied up next to her on the old mattress and propped her up against another stack of old boxes. The skin on her face was tired and old, pale and sickly, as if she hadn't eaten in ever. Her body had withered and waned into a slow breathing thing. She looked like a marionette puppet that had been stung by a bee, or a bunch of bees.

“I was wondering when you guys would get here,” Scott told us once we stood right in front of him and behind the chain link fence.

“What—What—” Lars sputtered. I recognized that black hair and that coat. Her skin was a patchwork of her own skin—I think—and the skin of who knows who else. Her eyes blinked at a slow pace. In the dim light, I could tell those were regular human eyes. No neon to be seen. The bunch of us congregated before Scott and... her.

“Gentlemen, the prototype,” he introduced us.

“This is the prototype?” Lars asked him in a broken voice.

“Made of human faces, broken bones, cow's blood, and a tree branch,” Scott continued with one eyebrow raised. “At least that's what she told me.”

“I—I am—” she sputtered in a small whisper of a voice: she did in fact have a British accent, and the way in which she spoke made me think of all of the clones that were being made in that warehouse down in the City. “—my name is Maya Sorenson, and I don't know if I am going to live to see the morning. Or if the morning might see me in order to eat me alive.” Every word she said was followed by a sharp intake of air, like she needed an inhaler or something.

“And yeah, there was another clone in the garbage truck on the way over here,” he said. “I took care of business and made sure she was put to good use.”

“Fucking hell,” I breathed out as I looked over at Lars. There was a few things on his mind, and there was on my mind, too. But one thing was for certain and that was we found the actual Maya.


	13. victims

“What I want to know is is how'd you even get in here while the trash truck was movin' along.”

Scott had climbed up his side of the fence with the prototype over his shoulders, and he reached the top when she almost fell right off of him and onto the cold ground underneath him. Her body was limp and listless, as if she hadn't eaten for days; even in the dim light from the street, I could make out the pale washed out color upon her face. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she looked to be weighing him down with the heaviness of her body.

“Scott,” Danny called out to him at one point, “Scott!”

“What?”

Maya fell off of his back and onto the mattress. Or so I thought, anyways.

“Shit!” Scott yelped. He leapt off of the fence right next to her. “Shit—Maya, I'm sorry—god damn it—”

“If only there was a way inside,” Mrs. Hamilton lamented.

“There is,” Scott grunted, “it's just a pain in the ass to get to.”

He hoisted her across his shoulders like she was a log of firewood or something and then he looked at the fence again.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Toss her over,” Danny told him.

“I'm not gonna toss her over, Danny!”

“Charlie'll catch her.”

“Yeah, pin it on the big guy to catch the girl,” Charlie scoffed.

“I'm not going to toss her over the fence,” Scott insisted as he adjusted her limp body on his shoulders.

“Well, how the hell else are you supposed to get her out of there then?” Danny asked him.

Lars turned to me with a puzzled look on his face. I shrugged at him. The obvious thing to me was to just go in through the front gate and get her even with it being a royal pain right square in the ass, but I had to take Scott's word for it. Mrs. Hamilton and Louise huddled closer to us so as to stay out of the way. Scott fetched up an exasperated sigh and took a step back from the fence. My whole thing about it was the sheer darkness coming down over us: he was either going to miss or he was going to miss. I nibbled on my bottom lip as Scott crouched down to the ground.

Charlie took a step back and extended out his arms.

I couldn't help but laugh to myself.

Scott hurled her up the fence and she hit the top. She ricocheted off and landed back on top of him.

“DAMN IT!” he cried out.

“We might be here a while,” I heard Louise say to Mrs. Hamilton.

“Agreed,” Mrs. Hamilton said.

Scott tried again and Maya that time brushed the top of the fence.

“Like you're throwing one of those shot puts, Scott,” Frankie assured him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...”

Scott picked up Maya over his shoulders a third time—I was surprised that, even given her fragility, she stayed in a single piece. She was in fact, the prototype, the actual Maya, the girl whom Lars and his wife befriended some time ago. At least that was my hope, and that was Lars' hope.

I couldn't shake what Lars had said to me out of my mind. It was going to stay with me no matter what happened, either. There was something else there, too. Something else that he wasn't telling me. Unless that really was all to it, I still had that overhanging feeling that he hid something else to eating his wife.

I still couldn't believe Charlie ate a slice of it, either, and I was kicking myself on the inside for not saying something. I had my faith that he would find out soon enough.

That was my hope anyway.

Meanwhile, Scott tried a third time. Nothing. Fourth time? Got close, as Maya brushed against the top of the fence and then she landed in his arms again.

“Try running, Scott,” Mrs. Hamilton suggested.

“I can't, though,” he pointed out, “too much shit back here.”

“How 'bout you jump up and then throw her?” I spoke up.

“Joey once again having so much to offer,” Lars joined in.

Scott let out a low whistle as he held Maya over his shoulders. Charlie shook his arms about to relax the muscles in them, and then he extended them out again. I watched them as it happened.

Scott put his knees and his back into it, or at least just his knees. He hurled her up to the top of the fence as he jumped in the air.

She went over—

and she clung to the top by her ankle and hung upside down.

“Shit!” Scott yelled out.

“Well, at least it got her over the fence,” Frankie assured me, to which I shrugged at him. Charlie said something right at that same time.

“Well, don't yank her arms out of their sockets, Charlie,” Scott scoffed.

“I'm not gonna yank 'em out of their sockets, Scott,” Charlie retorted.

“You think we should get back?” Danny asked Lars and me.

“Nah,” Lars assured him.

“Why would we, anyways?” I asked him.

“Well, 'cause I think something is gonna break on their end,” he pointed out to the two of them.

“Nah, I'd be more worried about Maya falling onto Charlie's head than anything breaking,” I assured him.

“You sure?”

“Positive. I mean, look at how she's hangin' there—all we need is some kind of push from Scott's part and then she'll fall right off.”

“Happens in comedy movies all the time,” Lars added.

“Exactly!” I said, and then I saw what exactly they were doing. Charlie held Maya by the hands and Scott shook the chain links of the fence about as if to loosen her. Little did he know, that didn't do much especially when I felt a rain drop on top of my forehead.

“Scott, it's raining,” Charlie told him.

“Huh?”

“I said it's raining!”

Right as the words left Charlie's mouth, Maya fell down into his arms. But he caught her by the hips so her legs knocked him right in the face.

And he fell right onto his back.

“You think we should help them?” Lars asked me.

“Yeah, I think we should,” I admitted, and the two of us darted over to Charlie and Maya; Scott meanwhile, climbed up the other side of the fence like a spider and then he put one leg over the top, followed by the other. Charlie let go of her and she lay still there on top of him.

“Maya,” he grunted. “Maya!”

She didn't move; I moseyed up to her and scooped her off of him. She was surprisingly light: so light in fact that I almost chucked her up in the air over mine and Scott's heads. But I caught myself as I put my arm underneath her knees, and she raised her gaze to me. Her eyes were bleary and the look on her face was one of exhaustion.

“I'm—I'm—I'm—”

“Shhh...” I brought my mouth closer to her ear. “ _It's empty now, no friendly face... and nothing lives within. I look around and I find no trace,_ _t_ _o tell me what has been_...”

She gazed right into my face with a delirious look upon hers. Her eyes fixated on my lips as I whispered right into her ear.

“... _so far I've come to find, there's no one here, no life I fear... I came for nothing, they have gone... and nobody's home, no one's home_.”

“What a lovely voice you have,” she remarked to me in a breathy voice.

“When Joey sings to you, you know he means well,” Scott assured her once he helped Charlie to his feet.

“She's probably hungry,” Lars remarked.

“I can't—” she pled.

“You can't what?” I asked her.

“I—I can't—”

“What is it?” I lowered my voice to a near whisper.

“What's wrong?” Scott asked me.

“I don't know.”

“Well, we better get movin' 'cause the rain and the snow's coming.”

I felt a few more rain droplets on the crown of my head. I wasn't wearing much in terms of a coat but I could bow my head a bit so as to protect her from the cold and the rain. It was dark and the rains were coming for us, and neither of us had any idea where we were going—including me! I didn't even know where we were going as we all made our way back out of the junkyard. It was like the first night I found her clone all over again, except she wasn't weighing me down with each and every step down the sidewalk. In fact, I was somewhat inclined to put her over my shoulders like what Scott did with her.

But we reached a tree about two blocks away from there and we all congregated underneath the scraggly dark branches.

“Okay, so let's just retrace our steps, I presume?” Mrs. Hamilton suggested.

“It's kinda dark, though, Lili,” Louise pointed out.

“Joey?” Lars turned to me. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Aside from that?” I asked him as I adjusted my grip on the underside of Maya's knees. “Not really. We'd haveta run back to Black Orchid and even that's a ways away. We can't stay out here, though—it's gonna get foggy and pitch black soon.”

Maya shivered and shook in my arms. I held her closer to my body even though I was shivering myself.

“Let's just get back to Black Orchid,” said Louise. “I'm already cold.”

There was one thing to come out of all of this and that proved to be the lights along the street. Even in the darkness we made sight of the blood on the pavement. The rain wasn't much so to speak: it was that fine mist courtesy of the lake effect on our backs and our heads. I brought Maya's head closer to my chest to protect her from it: I could feel the tree branch inside of her back just from holding her.

The blood would guide us back to Black Orchid. Or rather just the dumpster behind the market, but that was within range of Black Orchid, though.

We were about two blocks away: even in the darkness, I could tell we were getting close; but the fine mist was about to turn into full fledged rain like any second. If it were up to me, I would break into a run back to Black Orchid. I could do it; I had it within me.

But I was within a whole group of people. I needed to lead the way rather than run away. Even though she was surprisingly light, like carrying a little bit of twigs in my arms, she even started to weigh me down a bit. It didn't help matters that when we reached the end of the blood trail at the supermarket, and Mrs. Hamilton's car was still posted up about a hundred feet away, one of the street lights there had burnt out.

“Jesus fuck—” I muttered as I adjusted the weight of her in my arms. I didn't want to hurt her but it was hard given the extent of the darkness. She groaned in her throat as I brought her even closer to my body. She snuggled up next to me.

“Put her over your shoulders, Joey,” Scott said from right behind me.

“I ain't doin' that,” I scoffed.

“It'll help you out, though,” he added.

“But I don't want her to be cold, though.”

“We're all cold, though,” Louise noted.

“Ugh. Okay, fine—”

Without stopping for a second, I slung her to the side and then over my shoulder like a rag doll. She didn't make a sound, but I almost felt bad for doing that. But on the other hand, doing that lightened the load on my forearms a great deal. It was like carrying a pair of water buckets on either side of me.

We strode past the supermarket and made our way across the dirt to Mrs. Hamilton's car posted up by the curb.

“We're getting close, gentlemen,” Louise announced.

“We sure are,” I heard Charlie agree right behind me. Lars strolled up closer to me; in the dim light, I could make out the look of concern on his face.

“So how's she doing?” he asked me in a low voice.

“Well,” I started and I cleared my throat, “the load's lighter on my arms for sure—but I still feel kinda guilty 'bout holdin' her like this.”

“Well,” he started as he moved in closer to me, “just remember that you are not the one eating her.”

Maya gasped and shuddered on top of me like she had gotten a chill. But I didn't think it was a coincidence, though.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“No idea. But do me a solid and don't mention eatin' a person while we're out in the open like this—”

She gasped and shuddered again.

No. It wasn't the cold.

“Mentioned it again and she did it again,” he remarked.

“Yeah, like she squirms at the sound of someone eatin' a person—”

A third time. Like she was trying to wriggle out of my grip and slither onto the ground like a little worm.

“That's probably why she ain't eatin', Lars,” I said to him. “Sump'n happened that made her wary of it.”

“Well, I am reiterating it to you, Joey,” he pointed out, “do not mention eating a human being while we're out in the open like this—”

A fourth time.

“Sorry.”

“Everything okay?” Mrs. Hamilton called out to me.

“Yeah, yeah—she's just kinda cold,” I assured her; lucky for me, the wind picked up and sent a shiver down my spine. The rain was upon us. Lars and I fell back into silence and we kept at it until we reached the corner before Black Orchid. The whole place was dark but it would be safe for the bunch of us, that is until Lars and I returned to my place.

Indeed, I felt another rain drop on top of my head. Followed by another, and another, and several more. We were a block and a half away from Black Orchid when it picked up the pace. I put my head down so as to protect my eyes and my face from the pouring rain: Maya was going to be utterly drenched before we even so much as reached the doorstep.

The ground liquefied faster than I could think to the end of this sentence. I could feel it softening, but not to where I was getting all muddy once I reached the sidewalk. I stopped and looked behind me right as Lars caught up with me with his arms over his head.

“Like fucking soggy ass oatmeal!” Scott proclaimed.

“Forget oatmeal, it's like soup,” said Frankie.

The two of them congregated behind us, followed by Charlie and Danny, then Mrs. Hamilton and Louise came up next to us on the sidewalk.

“Such silly messy boys,” Louise teased us. “Going through the mud and getting all cold and wet.”

“It ain't that muddy,” Frankie pointed out. Mrs. Hamilton led us across the dark, soaked street to the front step of Black Orchid, where we were met with pitch darkness. She flicked up the light switch. Nothing.

“Shit!” she spat.

“Don't tell me you forgot to pay the electric bill,” Louise groaned.

“I think I did—ugh, let me see if I can find the flashlight and the candles.”

The bunch of us filed inside of the cold dark but dry front room. I kept Maya over my shoulders: I didn't want to inadvertently hit her head upon something in the dark, but at the same time, she was utterly drenched from the rain outside, like I could feel it as I kept her there.

Mrs. Hamilton groped through the darkness for the flashlight in question: I couldn't see her but I could hear her shuffling on the floor and nudging things near the bar. Lars lingered close to me, at least I thought it was Lars who was there. For all I knew, it could've been Scott or Danny given the shortness, or it could have been—

A beam of white light shone out from behind the bar and right onto the ceiling over our heads.

“Louise, get the candles for me,” she called out.

“What should we do?” Charlie asked her.

“Louise will give you boys a candle and put each of them around the room,” she explained as she held that big fat halogen flashlight in between her shoulder and the side of her neck. I watched her silhouette hand a pair of candles to Louise, who then rounded the bar to light them up. She gave those two to Charlie and Frankie, who then made their way across the room with them. She followed up with two more for Scott and Danny, and then another two for Lars and myself.

I held onto Maya with one hand and I took the candle with the other, and then he and I took a seat at the chess table. I set down the candle and then, careful not to bang her head on either the table or the top of the chair, I slung her around and sat her down in the chair in between me and Lars. She took one look at him and then leaned her head against my shoulder.

Me. She had chosen me. This girl on the brink of death had chosen me. And to think I was still pinching pennies and trying to get my shit together, and I was walking amongst five guys trying to get their shit together, too.

And she was wary of anything pertaining to eating on top of that. She could be on the starving and we had to fuck it up by the mention of chunky pastrami.

“Copies of copies... all made without an iota of remorse...” Lars muttered.

“Jesus Christ,” I added with the shake of my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics to nobody's home from kansas!


	14. nocturnal

“C'mon, Maya, stay with us,” I begged her. I had my hand resting on the back of her head to keep her awake, and yet her eyes rolled up and her eyelids shuttered closed. I shifted my weight in the chair. I wasn't used to holding someone in this position, much less a fully grown young lady.

“Maybe she's thirsty?” Lars suggested.

“Who knows,” I confessed as I never took my eyes off of her face. “She could be dyin' of thirst—y'know. Who knows how long she's been in that junkyard.” I cleared my throat.

“Do you know how long you've been in there?” I asked her in a soft voice.

“I doubt she's going to know the answer to such a dubious question, Joey,” Lars pointed out.

“Yeah, but it's worth a shot, though,” I said. I adjusted my hand underneath her head. My fingers caressed the roots of her hair, which felt dry as a bone. She was definitely thirsty; and add to it, the skin on her lips looked cracked and dry as if they hadn't seen a drop of water in eons. Dubious question? I think not.

Even in the dim light, I noticed that the skin on her face had washed out after being without basic necessities for so long, and her chest heaved from who the hell knew what. I could only think about Candace and also Angeline, given the latter was as important to all of this as the rest of us. I wondered if Maya even knew about Candace and what had happened to her with the shitload of paper shoved down her own gullet.

“She needs to lay down,” I heard Mrs. Hamilton say from behind Lars and me. I turned my head to look at her bathed in the amber candle light.

“But she _is_ laying down,” I pointed out as she entered the room; she stood there in the doorway with her hands pressed to her hips as if she was Wonder Woman.

“No, I mean actual laying down,” she replied with a little roll of her eyes.

“Also her hair is dry as a bone,” I added, to which I directed my attention to Lars, “so yeah—she's thirsty.” My upper left arm twitched from holding her. I could feel my hand falling asleep. But I wasn't willing to let her go as of yet, even as a little twitch emerged on the tip of my nose. I could let her go for a second and a half and rub the tip of my nose with one finger. It was possible. I could do it.

“She's probably famished, too,” Mrs. Hamilton added.

“She smells like old liquor, too,” I said as I couldn't take it anymore and I reached up to scratch my nose.

“Which means she needs a bath—Joey!”

“What—? Shit.” Maya almost fell out of my arms and onto the floor. I caught her by the shoulder but at that point, my left arm was shaking so much that it was difficult to even so much as hold onto her.

“Take her upstairs,” Lars ordered Mrs. Hamilton.

“Yeah, I can't—I can't—” She hurried over to me and, with the help of Lars, she picked Maya out of my arms. Louise emerged in the doorway behind them to help out.

“Is she hungry? She has to be hungry.” The three of them stepped away from me and the chess table. I watched them carry Maya out of there and into the dark hallway there.

“Watch her head!” said Louise, and Mrs. Hamilton was quick to catch Maya's head before it smacked against the corner of the doorway. The three of them then vanished into the darkness, which in turn left me alone there in the dark myself. I stood my feet and peeled off my coat.

I shook my arms about. For a small girl, she sure got heavy after a while. “Fuck.”

Lars returned to the room with a look of concern on his face.

“Joey, she's going to be in the room upstairs,” he announced to me.

“I ain't sleeping on a table,” I heard Scott say right behind him; I couldn't help but think about that container of human chunky pastrami underneath the bed there. My stomach turned when I thought about what went down in there.

“Well, at least she's going to be layin' on sump'n,” I pointed out to him.

“There's a pack of meat underneath the bed,” Louise called out.

“Oh, wait, that's mine!” Lars replied; he doubled back to retrieve it for himself. I felt my face flush from the thought of what was in that container, and to think it could very easily be eaten by the others in there. Charlie already had a piece and I could only think about all of them having pieces. It made my stomach turn, and so much that I had to step away from the table and towards the bar. I thought about pouring myself a glass of water but then again the lights were out and I had no idea where the glasses were in there.

I ran my fingers through my black curls and let out a low whistle.

He had to hide that container under the bed, the bastard! But then again, he killed her to save her and he did it to protect her. He did it to protect her. But bloody hell, did it make me uneasy.

“Joey,” Lars' Danish accent caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. I raised my eyebrows at his concerned expression bathed in candle light.

“It's gone,” he flatly said as he approached me.

“What!” I gaped at him.

“The container of sliced wife meat—it's gone.”

I glanced around the room to make sure we were alone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. It's another container—it has actual roast beef in there. It smells good and I had a piece, though, but still.”

“Who the hell took the first one then?” I was mortified.

He shrugged, and then Mrs. Hamilton called his name from upstairs. He winced for a second and then he ducked away. I could only wonder where it could have gone. I had no clue as to who would take it, either. But then I remembered the clones were all made from human flesh. I had a feeling I didn't want to know, and then I felt a light caress on my shoulder. I turned around to find Cindy standing behind me dressed in a white leather jacket and fitted black bell bottoms; I looked down to see black leather boots with one inch heels on her feet; for a split second, I swore she grew about an inch given she looked at me right in the face.

“Hey, Joey,” she greeted me.

“Cindy! I thought you didn't have to come in tonight.”

“Mom called me to come in for a moment. You know, with the lights and whatnot.”

“Right, right, right...” My voice trailed off. I really had no idea what to say to her right then, but I just thought back to our encounter in the loft following the chess game. I nibbled on my bottom lip at the thought of her lips around my dick. I could feel my face growing warm again.

“Besides, I saw you holding that girl in your arms like you were a hero or something,” she pointed out. “I was standing here for about a full five minutes and watched your every move.”

“Oh, her?” I smirked at her and gestured to the doorway. “Oh—it was nuthin'.” Five minutes, meaning she stood there and eavesdropped on that little exchange between me and Lars right there. I hoped she didn't hear the words “sliced wife meat”, and if she did, I hoped she misheard it for something else. Frankie's voice floated down the stairway right then, and I could only wish for one of them to call me up there because my one head wanted to be close to Cindy again, but on the other head, I feared the worst.

“You sure?” she asked me and she had this come hither look in her eyes, which was only accentuated by the amber glow of the candles around us. “You looked really—really—really sexy holding her. Kind of like how you looked really sexy on the hockey rink.” She moved in closer to me, so close that I could pick up the smell of the leather and her perfume on the side of her neck. I thought of her touching my ass like she did back in Syracuse, but I immediately shelved that thought.

I wasn't really in the mood for love making, especially since there was a pack of human chunky pastrami under a bed upstairs. But I took a look down at her chest and the sight of the black blouse underneath her jacket, complete with a low neckline to show off those lovely breasts of hers.

“Oh, well, I try my best,” I assured her with a shrug of my shoulders. I swore I heard Lars calling me, or maybe it was just me trying to search for a way out. I peered over my shoulder to pure darkness, but then she pressed her chest right up against mine. It helped matters that those boots brought her closer to my height. She ran the tips of her fingers down my chest and onto my stomach.

“God, you're so hot,” she whispered to me. I felt her hands caress me down, all the way to the band of my jeans. They made their way around my waist. “You know—I've had my share of clientele in the past, but there's something about you, though. Something—precious.”

“Precious?”

“Special. Darling. Memorable. Adorable. Adorable—”

I didn't even feel her hand lift off my lower back; next thing I knew, the zipper on my jeans came undone.

“—adorable and very sensual. There's just something—”

She slipped her fingers down my pants.

“—something about you Italian boys—nice and big and—” In the dim light, I made out sight of her eyes examining my hair. “—hairy. Very sexy—I am absolutely obsessed with it.”

I felt her fingers touch me. Touch me and feel me.

“Remember, I'm also Indian,” I reminded her with a raise of my finger.

“Explains everything, baby boy,” she continued with a grip of my shaft, which in turn made my toes curl. A grin crept across that face of hers.

“You feel that?” she teased me.

“Feel you? Or something else?”

She pressed her lips to the side of my neck. She had me then, especially once she groaned right into my ear.

“That's it,” she breathed right into my ear. “Come to Mama—” I could feel myself firming up and filling out: it helped that she had her hand right there, right on me, holding onto me tight like I was going to get away from her. I felt her chest rub against my own.

“Come to me—come to me, you bad boy—”

“How much do I owe you?” was all I could grunt out.

“Nuthin,” she replied.

“Wha—really?” I glimpsed down at her.

“Yes. Just for you, my stallion—you don't have to pay me a dime. That's how precious you are.”

I let out the softest noise from the back of my throat. I wasn't coming or getting off or anything but if she got down on her knees, I probably would. But fucking hell, it felt so good. And it felt good even as Mrs. Hamilton strode into the room right then right behind us.

“Are we dancing in the dark here?” she teased us.

“Kinda—” I cleared my throat, and Cindy took her hand out from my pants. In the dim light, I watched her pulsate her fingers: I could still her below the belt and upon my chest. I was still pretty full between the legs, and I knew I would be for some time even as Mrs. Hamilton strolled up next to me and rested her arm on my shoulder.

“So you and Lars bunkin' in the loft upstairs tonight?” Cindy asked me.

“We'd have to make the bed, though,” Mrs. Hamilton pointed out. “And—you know—it's stone dark up there right now.”

“Nothing to it,” she insisted, “although I can see it being a little bit of a pain. I'm gonna see if Louise wants to help...” She strode out of the room and into the dark hallway to my left.

“I'm not really tired, though,” I confessed to Mrs. Hamilton. “And I kinda wanted to mosey on home, too. You know—before it snows.”

“That bed is so toasty, though,” she said with a smirk on her face.

“But I really wanna sleep in my own bed tonight, though,” I insisted.

“You sure?”

“Positive. I'm as firm as a rock, too.”

“Oh, she did a little handiwork?”

“Yeah. It felt good, but I worry about staying this big, though, even as Lars and I turn in for the night.”

“Okay, I'll take you boys home,” she told me with a wink. “We'll use Cindy's car seeing as my car has seen some better days...” Lars emerged from the hallway right then with a flustered look on his face.

“ _Hvordan går det_?” he asked us.

“Huh?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“How goes it? Sorry. A bit of Danish slips out still. Maya is laying on the one bed in the room upstairs, and Scott, Frank, Dan, and Charlie are all figuring sleeping positions for themselves.”

“I'm takin' you boys home before the snow comes in,” Mrs. Hamilton informed him.

“Oh, good—I had my worries as to what was going on here—here in the dark.” I thought about that container under the bed, but I dared not ask Lars about it until after we returned to my place. Cindy emerged from the darkness right then with a flash light in one hand.

“Cindy,” Mrs. Hamilton started, “I'm gonna take Joey and Lars home—you check on the lights and make sure everything is in its right place. You got your keys?”

“Okay! Yeah, I do, right here—” She ambled over to Mrs. Hamilton with the car keys, which she took out from her jacket pocket. “Good night, Joey.” She winked at me and blew me a kiss, and I felt my stomach make a flippity flop. I showed her a shy smirk before I fetched my coat and left the room.

Even as we stepped outside into the rain, it took me a few moments to realize my jeans were still undone: I couldn't hardly understand as to why the skin under my belly button felt so cold. I zipped up before we reached Cindy's cute little black car parked behind Black Orchid. I ran my fingers along my waist just to feel myself for a second before I climbed into the cozy warmth next to Mrs. Hamilton and the fuzzy hot pink dice dangling off of the rear view mirror. The whole interior smelled of spice and nail polish: that passenger seat felt like a hug from behind. I couldn't explain it, but I pictured myself sitting there next to Cindy as she and I went on a road trip somewhere. It was a fleeting thought, but I thought it anyway.

I had a crush on a stripper, albeit one docked in lace and leather.

“You warm enough back there, Lars?” Mrs. Hamilton took a glimpse into the mirror at him there in the back seat.

“Oh, yes—plenty warm back here.”

I thought about who could have made their way under the bed in there. Under the bed and swapped out the chunky human slices for actual roast beef. The good news was that we need not worry about that container anymore. At least that was my hope.

I didn't want to leave the warmth of that car as Mrs. Hamilton drove us back to my place, and it was a good thing we got there when we did because I made out the sight of snowflakes against the windshield.

“Be careful going back,” Lars told her before he climbed out of the back seat.

“I will, don't worry,” she assured him, “—I've driven in worse conditions in that piece of crap up the block from the club.”

I leaned into Mrs. Hamilton's face as if I was about to kiss her, but I stopped myself. She gazed at me with her eyes wide and then she grinned at me.

“Good night, sweet boy,” she told me, and gave me a little peck on the cheek. I felt my face grow warm at the feel of her lips. I then followed Lars out of the car; I waved at her once I closed the door behind me. I led him to my front door; I took out my keys from my coat pocket and unlocked it, and revealed the darkness blanketing the front room.

“Isn't it nice to be back home?” he said to me.

“Absolutely,” I replied; I made my way across the room to turn on the lamp. He shut the door behind him; once the golden light crossed the room, I noticed he had his hand to his chest.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I just—I just—” He pursed his lips shut. I thought about that container under the bed. Sliced dead wife meat, or however the hell he put it.

“You're not gonna barf, are ya?” I grimaced at the thought of him puking right there. I took a step back towards the wall.

“No,” he assured me, but the reddish hue in his face told a different story. He let out a low whistle. “I did get a little queasy riding in the car there, however. That's what happens when it gets so warm—” He stopped himself, complete with a hand on his chest. I didn't move, even if it was rather cold in there. He didn't move, either; and then I heard his stomach rumble.

“Oh, god, man—go to the bathroom,” I muttered. He let out the biggest hairiest belch I ever heard him let out at that point: it lasted about ten seconds and it sounded as though it came from his lower intestine.

“Jesus,” I remarked as I bowed my head and grimaced at the length of it.

“Yeah. Oh—” He then gagged on something. He bowed his head and brought one hand to his stomach.

“You okay?” I practically had my back pressed to the wall at that point. He brought a hand to his mouth and bowed his head forward.

“Oh, man, not on the carpet,” I said with a shudder at the thought of him puking all over the place. But he didn't: instead, he choked on something. I held still for a second, and then he—took something out of his mouth.

“The fuck?” I whispered. He held up his hand to show me—

“Is that—Is that what I think it is?” I asked him in a low voice.

He unfurled the arms to show that they were still undigested even after having been in his stomach for who knows how long. The lenses shone in the lamp light, even with small bits of his stomach acid clinging to the front and back of them.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“Those are her glasses... right?” I asked him.

“Yeah. I forgot I ate these.”

“Why—Why—” I could hardly speak.

“Because I knew if someone found her, they would ask me if I knew anything, and I didn't really have much of anything to dispose of these.”

“So—you swallowed those down, too...” I relaxed and leaned against the wall for a moment. I watched him examine the glasses for a moment.

“I hadn't eaten a piece of her in some time—she's starting to pass through.”

To which I nodded and stretched my arms over my head. “I'm officially ready for bed, I dunno 'bout you.”

I ducked into the hallway, and into my room to change out of my clothes. I hung my coat up in my closet given I didn't want to go out tomorrow for anything. I just wanted to stay in bed all day, and Lars could join me, too. I had my hope given what he had just said. It was passing through him and so I hoped that things would go quiet for a time as I crawled under the covers. I fell asleep before my head even so much as hit my pillow, and thus I never felt him crawl into bed next to me.

I saw Nerissa and Cindy laying on either side of me, the former with her thick lush body and the latter with her delicate touch. In between two girls who wanted to kiss me and love me, even if it meant Cindy would have to wrap her lips around another guy's dick for a time and a brick of money and if it meant that Nerissa had to vanish into thin air. They both caressed my chest and kissed my neck, and ran their fingers through my hair. Nerissa's body looked much fuller than normal, like she had put on a bunch of weight even from being on the other side.

“Ladies, please,” I said to them, “I'm only one man.”

“And a sexy one at that,” Cindy breathed into my ear right before she ran her tongue around the rim. “We're gonna kidnap you.”

“Huh?” I asked her.

“Joey—Joey!” Lars' voice sliced through the dream like a knife. I opened my eyes to see him standing over me. Gray morning light washed over the side of his face.

“Huh? What?” I blinked a few times to make out the alarmed look upon his face. “What is it?”

“Scott's been kidnapped,” he stated.

“Huh?!”

“Scott's been kidnapped! Mrs. Hamilton's outside right now. Come on, get dressed—we've gotta find him!”

“D'she at least call the cops?” I asked him as I pulled myself into an upright position.

“No, she's worried they won't be able to find him,” he quipped; he backed up to let me climb to my feet. “Come on, come on!”

“I'm coming! I'm coming!” I persisted. Yeah, I came for Mrs. Hamilton but not Cindy.


	15. you'll only make it worse

“I can't believe that pack of sliced wife meat is gone.”

Lars and I scrambled to get dressed and out the door given little snow flurries came down upon us. He seemed more fixated on that whole thing than the actual fact that Scott had gone missing. I put on my coat and tugged my hood over my head; I searched through my pockets for my gloves and my key.

“What're you looking for?” he asked me.

“Things for my hands and the thing to lock the door.”

“Just keep your hands in your pockets and we will be back soon enough.”

“And risk gettin' robbed? I don't think so. And by the way, don't mention it to Mrs. Hamilton, though, aight?”

“Mention what?”

“The chunky pastrami.”

“Sliced wife meat,” he corrected me.

“Whatever. Just don't mention it to her 'cause the last thing I want is to have her be on both our asses for losing a thing of meat—oh, here are my keys.”

I took the ring out of my coat pocket, and underneath that I felt a piece of paper, but that was least of my concern at that moment. I then led Lars out to the icy cold sidewalk. I locked the door and my hands immediately shook from the bitter lake effect snow. I stuffed the key back into my pocket and Lars and I walked down to Mrs. Hamilton's ride, which I could tell was Cindy's car once again.

“Shotfun,” Lars said aloud.

“Shotgun, you mean,” I replied.

“Right.”

I climbed into the back seat behind him and a concerned Mrs. Hamilton. Once Lars shut the door behind him, we rolled towards the street. I almost had no time to put on my seat belt, either.

“We just woke up earlier and Charlie noticed he was missing,” she said without hesitating. “Looked high and low for him and everything.”

“Where do you think he could have gone?” Lars asked her.

“No idea. Doubt he went back to that junkyard, too—too far of a walk and there's no reason to given the prototype is with us.”

“How's she doing by the way?” I said once I was buckled in.

“Maya?” Mrs. Hamilton peered up in the rear view mirror at me.

“Yeah.”

“She didn't really sleep all too well last night. Probably because she's so starved and emeciated—she was up a lot last night according to Danny.”

“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. I leaned back and put one arm upon the top of the seat.

“Is she at least eating anything?” Lars asked her.

“That's the other thing, too—she barely eats. I gave her a saltine cracker before we went to bed last night and she ate it slowly. I gave her two more this morning and she ate those, too. But she grimaces at the mention of eating any kind of meat and she sympathizes with all of you boys in that you're not very well known.” Mrs. Hamilton peered into the mirror at me.

“She wants to hear you sing again, Joey.”

“Oh yeah?” I flashed her a grin.

“Yeah. She described your voice as 'sweet' and 'simultaneously earth shaking.' She wants to hear you when you get a chance, Joey.”

I nodded my head and peered out the window at the flurries coming down. I never moved from my spot as we neared Black Orchid; Mrs. Hamilton parked outside of the front door and the three of us filed up the walkway. She held the door for Lars and me and we ducked inside to see Frankie, Charlie, Danny, Cindy, Gwen, and Louise all congregated around the strip chess table. All of them had looks of concern on their faces.

I tugged the hood down from my head and sighed through my nose. I could only wonder what had happened here while Lars and I were sleeping.

“Alright, let's get down to brass tacks,” he started, “who was the last to fall asleep last night?”

“Me,” Danny raised his hand. “And Scott was asleep once I did, too.”

“You don't think it has anything to do with that warehouse we found down in New York City, do you,” Frankie wondered aloud.

I thought about that particular pack of meat under the bed upstairs, and I wondered if it all had anything to do with that one Lars had in his coat all that time. It all just made sense to me, especially once I thought about everything he had said about his wife and why he did what he did, but then again, I told him to not mention it to Mrs. Hamilton so I couldn't mention it to them. But it also made sense: wherever we found Scott, we could uncover something more about Candace and Maya.

I was about to say something about that when Lars beat me to the punch.

“I have no doubt about it, but I also do.”

“Why?” asked Charlie; he then patted his chest.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah. I've had heartburn all night.”

Yeah, it definitely had to do with that damn container Lars had in his coat.

“Anyways, I wonder why it even would have anything to do with that warehouse. It was a place where things were put to pasture.”

It had everything to do with that warehouse: he was either covering his own neck or he missed something about his wife that he didn't catch before he choked her and then diced her up into literal lunch meat.

“By the way, there's one thing that keeps bothering me, Lars,” Frankie spoke up, “is how'd you know that warehouse was where clones were being made?”

I turned to look at Lars, whose mouth hung open but no sound came out. We got him then.

“Well, enough chit chat, gang,” Mrs. Hamilton scoffed as she breezed past the two of us. “We have to find Scott before something bad happens. Or before we're stuck here because it's snowing outside. We're a big group and yet I can only do so much on my end.” She hesitated behind the bar and set her hands on top of that polished wood. I crammed my hands into my coat pockets. I felt my keys and that one piece of paper there at the bottom. I fondled around with two fingers and got hold of it.

And then I remembered what it was.

“There is—someone we can call up,” I pointed out as I took the piece of paper out of my pocket.

“Who?” Mrs. Hamilton asked me.

“Where's the phone in here?”

“Right here behind the bar.” I ambled towards her and rounded the bar: I spotted that phone underneath her hips. She stepped out of the way for me, and yet she stood next to me as I picked the receiver. I dialed that number and brought the earpiece to the side of my head. It rang just once—

“Hello?”

“Angeline, hi. It's Joey.”

“Oh, hi—” She cleared her throat.

“I was wondering about you boys, like—when one of you would hit me up,” she said; her voice sounded congested, like she had a cold. “Things have been—ungodly slow lately. What's going on?”

“Scott—kinda sorta went missing.”

“Kinda sorta?” I could hear her chuckle at that.

“I mean, yes. Yeah. Scott went missing.”

There was a click on her end. “Hang on a second, Joey—”

Her side went silent. I looked up at all of them in the room before me, all of them still and completely silent. I kept the phone up to my ear for a second. I listened to complete silence for a second before I set the receiver back down. I kept my hand over the handle part of the phone and nibbled on my bottom lip.

The phone rang and I picked it back up to my ear.

“You know,” Angeline said with another clearing of her throat, “it's funny you mention that because—I got a lead just now telling me John Bush's gone missing, too.”

“No way,” I said with a glance up at Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Lars.

“Yes way. They said that Bush and Ian were probably taken by the same person—at least I hope that's what it is. My hope is they're not in the heart of New York City. And when I say 'heart', I mean that quite literally.”

I swallowed because I flashed back on the other night when we found that one clone in the empty lot.

She coughed twice and cleared her throat again.

“Are you alright? You sound sick.”

“Literal 'heart' of New York City—it's having an effect on my head and my lungs a bit.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. So when you all come down that way, bring your masks because—because it's utterly ghastly.”

“Well, there's a bunch of us—y'know, it's me and Lars, and then Frankie, Charlie, and Danny, and then the girls at Black Orchid.”

“Well, I'm headed up in your direction, though,” she assured me, “up to Syracuse anyway. I have to start somewhere.”

“Want me to tell them 'bout it?” I asked her.

“Please do. You know you guys were more than helpful before.”

“By the way, Angeline, I should tell you—before he vanished into thin air, Scott found the prototype.”

“The prototype?”

“The original Maya. He found her in a junkyard.”

“Oh, my God. Is she—” She cleared her throat again. “—is she alright?”

“I hope so. When we found her, she was so weak, Scott and I both could pick her up and sling her over our shoulders. She ate some crackers so that's—that was sump'n, y'know?”

“Okay. Let's meet up in Syracuse. The same coffee shop where we met before. I'm on my way.”

“Okay—” She and I hung up at the same time, and I turned to Mrs. Hamilton.

“Angeline wants to meet up at the coffee shop we had breakfast the other day,” I told her.

“Did she say where she is right now?”

“No, but I doubt she'll get there before us since she works in the City.”

“Okay.” Mrs. Hamilton turned to Cindy and Gwen. “Someone's gotta stay here because she could die. Granted, she's probably going to die anyways—but someone has to stay here and watch over her.”

“My car also can't fit that many people in it, either,” Cindy pointed out.

“And my car is toast, too,” Mrs. Hamilton added, and then she turned to Gwen. “Your truck can fit a bunch of people in it.”

“The five of us plus you?” I asked her.

“It won't be very comfortable, though,” said Gwen. “One of you guys have to your beautiful crotches hit by the stick shift.”

“I ain't sittin' sideways, either,” I grumbled.

“Flip a coin?” Frankie offered.

Lars looked back at me with his eyes wide.

“I will have my balls crushed,” he offered.

“We're all gonna have our balls crushed, though, now that I think 'bout it,” I told him. “Before we go, I wanna—” I gestured to the hallway on the other side of the room, right behind them.

“Go see her,” Mrs. Hamilton coaxed me with a pat of my upper back. She slid her hand down towards my hips for a second, and then I stepped away from her. I passed the table and entered the dim hallway. I ascended the stairs and I had a weird feeling overcome me. That feeling that I was about to walk right into the void.

I stepped into that room to find her laying on the bed closest to the door. They had covered her body with blankets: in the gray morning light, I could see the sheer gauntness of her face and her neck. Deep creases coated her eyelids and the corners of her mouth. She looked like how I felt when I received that phone call from Charlie.

“Maya?” I said to her. She opened her eyes to look at me with those yellowed eyes.

“Come closer to me,” her voice was light and airy but I could tell she didn't have a lot of time with her. I took one step forward and then another, and I loomed over her. I didn't like the feeling over me. It sucked. The whole thing sucked. I felt like I was standing over something awful rather than a girl who was dying.

“Joey?” she whispered to me; she brought a hand out from underneath the covers and gestured for me to come closer to her. I swallowed.

“Yes?” I bowed closer to her face: I made out the sight of seam lines all over her skin, like a patchwork of sorts. There was even a stripe across her nose that was a slightly different tone compared to the other parts of her face.

“I would rather die than let any more clones be made,” she confessed to me.

“I ain't killin' you,” I told her.

“No, no—that isn't what I want.”

I gazed on at her pale skin and those sickly eyes. Amazed she even made it through the night.

“I need your voice,” she whispered.

“You want me to sing to you?”

“Please. Sing me to sleep.”

I thought about what I could sing to her right then. The one song that had hung with me for years following when I first heard it in high school. I nibbled on my bottom lip and closed my eyes. It was something I had wanted to sing with Anthrax whenever we got the chance.

“ _Once I rose above the noise and confusion... just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion, I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high. Though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man, though my mind could think, I still was a mad man. I hear the voices when I'm dreaming_...”

Her eyes closed again and I loomed in closer to her.

“ _I can hear them say, carry on, my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done..._ ”

She didn't move as I brought my voice to a whisper.  
“... _lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more_.”

She drifted off to sleep and that was my cue to return back downstairs. I doubled back out to the stairs and to the hallway, and the front room, where I was met with Mrs. Hamilton telling something to Cindy and Gwen.

“Is she asleep?” she asked me as she handed me a black protective mask for myself.

“Yep, went right to sleep,” I duly replied.

“She's not dead, is she?” Lars chimed in from behind them.

“Oh, no. No. Just went right to sleep.”

“Alright, let's get going,” Charlie declared as he patted his chest again. I took one last glimpse to Cindy, who blew me a kiss.

“Stay safe,” she said to me in a low voice.

“You, too,” I said back to her with a wink.

The bunch of us returned outside, where the snow had stopped which meant even more was coming. As we made our way to Gwen's truck parked around the corner, I looked down the block at the sight of something glimmering against the gray. It wasn't water or snow or anything like that. I recognized her hair and even from a distance I made the shape of a caduceus on her blouse. She vanished about as quickly as she emerged from thin air.

I didn't have time to ruminate on why Mrs. Snow appeared right then, especially given the fact I had to climb into the front passenger seat last before we went anywhere. Indeed, Lars was crammed right in between me and Mrs. Hamilton, but the stick shift came about an inch from the crotch of his jeans. My crotch felt sore just looking at it, though.

“Knee deep in blood and cum, let me tell you,” he muttered to me at one point. The snows came in right as we came within the outskirts of Syracuse. That blue neon lined the skyline and I blinked once, then twice, and neither time was it a sign of me missing it vanishing for a second before reappearing. I didn't understand that, as much as I figured out any of it.

Mrs. Hamilton took the next exit to that cafe we had had breakfast before, and I recognized Angeline outside the front door wrapped in a heavy winter coat.

When we climbed out, I was quick to put on my mask because she looked like death herself had rolled her over. Her face was washed out and the bags under her eyes were as dark blue as Frankie's jeans.

“Oh my God, Angeline, what the hell happened?” Mrs. Hamilton asked her, appalled.

“I'm really sick,” she said in a hoarse voice, “it's—whatever is overcoming New York right now.”

I turned to Lars, who gaped at me. I raised an eyebrow at him, to which he knitted his at me. I nodded at him, to which he shook his head.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked me.

“Don't mention the container,” I warned him in a low voice. “At least—not yet. Not when we're gettin' sump'n to eat.”

“Joey, the container has nothing to do with any of it—just going to tell you that right now.”

“Why'd Scott go missin' then?”

“No idea. But I know for a fact the container had nothing to do with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics to carry on wayward son by kansas, which anthrax themselves covered in 2016!


	16. two in the chest, one in the head

I took my seat across from Angeline at the table near the window; right next to us was an empty table that hadn't been busked yet from all the trash and whatnot over the surface. I kept my mask covering my nose and my mouth because I didn't know if she was contagious or not. She looked like she needed to lay down just sitting there next to Mrs. Hamilton. Just lay down and put her feet up on the wall and make everyone see what was going on down in the City. She barely touched her cup of coffee and part of me wanted Mrs. Hamilton to cut a little hole in the middle of her mask so she could drink hers. I pictured her sticking a straw into the hole and taking a sip that way: like the backwards version of one of those lids on cups of coffee you get at a regular little coffee house.

“So, what's the prototype like?” Angeline asked us after she took a little sip of water.

“She's like a little light sack of lights,” I told her.

“Yeah, she's extra light and you can kind of tell it's her because of it,” Danny added.

“What I wanna know is why Scott of all people?” Frankie wondered aloud.

“I think you're speakin' for all of us, Frank,” Charlie pointed out.

“Probably because he's the ring leader,” Danny suggested. “Whoever took him probably knows us—kinda. Sorta.”

“Meaning the threat is real,” Frankie muttered as he dropped his gaze to the table. There was just something continuing to bug me about Lars, though. I needed answers. The four of us needed answers. I wasn't sure about going against my word and telling Mrs. Hamilton about the chunky pastrami as of yet, but I needed to pry it out of him first, though. It was going to be a while before our food got there, too.

“Lars, could I have a word with you for a second?” I said right into his ear. He raised an eyebrow at me but he followed me into the same hallway where Cindy touched me and felt me up. I tugged my kerchief down so I could better speak to him.

“Joey, for the third time, I don't know anything,” he insisted in a near whisper.

“Where did Scott and John go, then?” I demanded as I folded my arms across the chest.

“I don't know!” he pleaded. I took a second look at the pained look in his eyes and I wondered if I was being too hard on him.

“Joey, I promise you,” he continued with a break in his voice, “—it has nothing to do with it! I don't know why Scott went missing!”

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip. I didn't know what to say, but I knew the stone cold look told him a different story.

“Joey, my hand on my grandfather's ashes—I don't know why Scott is missing.”

I thought back to Black Orchid, where I spotted Mrs. Snow's silhouette at the far end of the street right before she vanished. She was a nurse, or at least the ghost of one. I flashed back on the seam looking mark on Maya's face and the fact she managed to fall asleep.

And then I realized Lars was telling the truth.

“What's that look for?” he asked me.

“I believe you,” I confessed in a low voice, “as long as you believe in the fact that I live with four ghosts.”

“I do, I do, I do.” He knitted his eyebrows at me. “Why?” I spotted the waitress bringing a tray of food to our table.

“I'll tell you later.” I led him back to the table, where we were met with all those decadent smells, and I couldn't get those Belgian waffles into my mouth sooner. I was so hungry that I scarcely paid any attention to what the other guys were discussing about. Something about girls down in the City to make me realize I was the bachelor from upstate, but then I realized they were talking about the clones and the people and things making them all.

“Killing poets, artists, everyone with something to say,” Mrs. Hamilton remarked, “—and then making them into a clone.”

“Stealing their flesh and making them into something else,” Angeline continued as she blew her nose with the napkin.

“That sounds like something that should concern all four of us, especially with Scott and John at the helm,” Lars said as he scooped up a bite of hash browns: when we found another morning back at my place, I wanted him to make me another round of that European breakfast. I ate to my heart's desire then and there was a part of me that wanted to do it again.

“That's 'cause it is,” Danny grumbled, to which he rolled his eyes.

“And for all we know, they could expand beyond New York,” Charlie pointed out, “—they could go to other music scenes.” He turned to Angeline. “Did you find anything else useful before you got sick with—” The way she coughed made me think she was going to cough up a pair of glasses like what happened to Lars. “—whatever the hell this is?”

“Actually yes,” she replied, nonchalant, like she hadn't done anything; “I've found that most of the bodies they used were well fed, like they were taking the people who managed to take care of themselves in times of troubles.”

And right when the words left her lips, I stuck a forkful of waffle right down my gullet so I almost gagged.

“So we shouldn't be eatin', is that what you're sayin'?” I demanded with my mouth full.

“No—why would I take you guys here if I said that?” she scoffed. “As far as I know, you guys are all fine here with me—just as long as you don't get your asses tangled up in the warehouse down in the City.” And then the look on her face softened up at the sight of me.

“Joey—stand up for me.”

I swallowed down the bite.

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

I set the fork down and stood to my feet, right next to her with the kerchief back over my nose and mouth.

“Go to the table next to us,” she started. With one step to my right, I stood right next to that table.

“Now pick up that straw.” I turned my head and saw a bunch of straws, each of them a different shape and size. I picked up the metal one with a spiral near the top.

“This one?” I asked her and showed it to herr.

“No,” she replied with a clearing of her throat. I set it down and picked up a bright yellow one.

“How 'bout this one?”

“No,” she said more firmly. I set it down and picked up a blue one with a break in the side.

“This one?”

“No!” she exclaimed and her voice broke. I set it down and picked up one of two of those bendie straws, the kind you'd find on the side of a juice box.

“This one!”

“Yes! I mean, no.” She rolled her eyes. “To your left.” I set it down and turned to the left towards the other side of the table.

“Your other left,” she insisted.

“Other left?” I echoed.

“Under your hand.”

I lifted my left hand to see another one of those bendie straws, but this one was made of silvery metal.

“That's the one!” she declared. “Keep that with you when we go to the warehouse. And keep your eye out for five more for the rest of the gang here—”

Her voice trailed off for me because I spotted one of the cooks in the kitchen using the meat slicer in there to slice up what looked like bok choi. Except I could tell it wasn't from its fibrous leaves up top—all I knew was bok choi didn't look like that.

Chunky pastrami. Sliced wife meat—that was the worst thing I ever said, what am I doing?

I doubled back to the table to finish my waffles: another thing I wanted to ask of Lars if and when he made me that European breakfast again was seconds of it. It was in fact that good that I was willing to eat to my heart's content. If he ate his wife's heart, it only made sense for me to eat to my heart's desire.

I drank down my coffee and my water, and as long as we saw nothing gross down in the warehouse, I felt warm and snug within again. I wiped off that bendie straw I had found with the inside of my crumpled napkin before I tucked it into my pocket. I wasn't sure as to why Angeline told me to get that for myself, but I decided to take her word for it.

Within time, we filed back outside to the freezing cold morning. I buttoned up my coat and stood in between Lars and Frankie before we piled back into the car. Angeline cleared her throat again before she climbed into her own.

“So I'll lead you all to the warehouse once again,” she told us, and I still thought about that cook back there in the restaurant. None of the guys had anything that looked like that piece of meaty bok choi, or anything that resembled to that sliced chunky pastrami. As far as I knew anyway.

It would be a few hours before we reached the City and the hum of the road made me think of droning guitars. Droning guitars like what Danny and Scott did after a set, or like what all of my old bandmates did when I was playing small shows all over upstate New York. I would sing out into those tiny little dingy bars with my hair over my face and I would do it that felt like I was singing to a whole stadium of people.

And yet for all I knew, I was looking at the end. People were vanishing, our peers were being ground up as meat and fed to the unassuming—or so I thought—and their skin was being used to make clones that didn't even last so much as a day. Why use this girl Maya of all people as a base for them all was beyond me. But I knew there was more to Lars' story. I just felt it.

I felt it as we neared the City, where the neon had taken hold and bathed everything in that creepy bright blue light. I could see the weird meaty webby looking shit covering up the buildings and the bridge on the outskirts of town and I knew what Angeline talked about right then. In fact, I was the only one to put my kerchief back on over my face because I wasn't willing to take any chances even with us being protected. Mrs. Hamilton followed suit, and Lars did, too. Angeline led us back to that one part of town where we went off the freeway before, and I thought about Mrs. Hamilton's radar detector. All I knew was Louise took it out of the glove box in her car and I had an odd feeling at that thought of that. A feeling I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Angeline brought us past that collapse in the freeway, to which I noticed the mossy looking stuff had covered it up and fused it back together with the rest of the pavement. It made me think of one of those surrealist paintings in recent years, the ones where the buildings were made of flesh and humans becoming part of them. The whole thing felt like a painting that hit me so hard it knocked me sideways, and yet I couldn't look away from it all.

She led us to the next exit, and I spotted the warehouse from before once we rolled down onto the side street. I had no idea what she was doing and neither the neon nor the mossy stuff were helping, either.

And then something hit the windshield. It wasn't a clone, but it was a piece of a human.

Mrs. Hamilton yelped out as the guy hit the windshield again and shattered it into a million pieces. I shut my eyes and held still for a second so the glass would fall onto my lap and my legs. I then opened my eyes to see some crazy doctor looking guy lunging for the three of us there in the front seat.

“YOU!” he shouted and pointed at Lars. “YOU!”

“Me?” he asked, confused.

“YOU!”

“What did I do?”

“More like what didn't you do,” I muttered under my breath. Mrs. Hamilton put the car into reverse and he slid right off. For a second, I swore she was going to shoot forward and run him over, but Angeline beat her to the punch. I gasped and held still for a second, and then Mrs. Hamilton climbed out.

“Angeline!” she called out. “Angeline!”

“What—the hell—was that all about?” Frankie sputtered.

“I haven't the foggiest,” Danny confessed.

“That's the second time you've said that,” Lars pointed out. “I don't think you're using it properly.”

“Nah, he's usin' it properly,” I assured him.

“It's not really a phrase I hear often in Danish so it sounds odd to me,” he continued with a shrug of the shoulders. “Anyways, what'd you want to tell me from earlier?”

I was about to say something when Angeline called my name.

“I'll tell you later.” I climbed out of the car into the heavy swampy mess of a street to check on her and I realized I had no idea what she called me for. I came face to face with a clone, complete with angry glowing eyes. I had no time to react to her, either.

And she kicked me right in the nuts.

I fell right to my knees onto bare pavement. I bowed forward with my hands clasped to the crotch of my jeans. Every breath felt like a balloon swelled up in my chest. My stomach turned and the warm soft feeling from before disappeared with the pain. I couldn't hardly breathe, or hear what Lars was saying for that matter.

Someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me back.

Next thing I knew I was back in the front seat and Lars' predicament with the stick shift seemed a little redundant at that point.

“Jesus, you okay, Joey?” Mrs. Hamilton asked me, and I realized she had lay my head in her lap. “God, I was telling you to look out, not get out.”

“Yeah, I realize that now—sorry, Leela.” Lars scrambled in next to her and shut the door.

I reached forward to shut the door and the window fell out again!

“I gotta quit closin' the door so hard,” I muttered as my whole nether region throbbed in agony. I felt like I was going to puke, and Lars' driving us down to Manhattan like a madman did nothing to help matters, either.


	17. my monsters

“Hang on, Joey!”

I felt so sick, even with my head in Mrs. Hamilton's lap. The window having fallen out of the thing allowed me to put my feet up on the edge of the door. We were driving all the way down to Manhattan with no window and my feet hanging out like I was a kid airing out my feet after a hockey game. I pinched my eyes shut as I tried to think of something else.

All I could think about was that horrible pain between my legs.

The clones were heavy with blood and machinery of some kind that I didn't understand, so think if I got kicked in the crotch with a heavy metal bar—

I groaned in my throat because I didn't know what hurt more, my crotch or my feet from hanging out in the open. I was in utter agony. Complete and utter agony, and every breath into my lungs made my chest swell up with it. Mrs. Hamilton stroked my forehead to try and soothe me, at least I hoped she was the one doing the stroking given Lars was right next to her. I needed to get alone with him again to finish that one thought.

That one thought I showed to him when we were in Syracuse.

Syracuse! What the hell was going on there. I needed to know that because it could reach to me at any given moment.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind when I felt Mrs. Hamilton's hand on the crotch of my jeans. She was fondling me right there in front of the guys, but it was to help me out. I was sure of it.

“Are we going to the place we were before?” she asked Lars.

“Of course! At least that is where I believe Angeline is taking us—” I didn't hear the rest of it because her fingers fondling me there. Even through the fabric, her fingers were soothing to the touch. She was giving me what for, and it helped that my head lay right in her lap. Her touches were like little light feathery kisses.

I rolled my head to the side so I could breathe, and yet I also couldn't given the stuff growing on the sidewalks and all the buildings outside.

I felt the car turn a corner but I wasn't sure as to which way.

And then we came to a complete stop.

I didn't open my eyes but I did feel Lars move above the crown of my head.

“Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton said to me as the back doors closed behind us. I finally opened my eyes to see her face looking down at me, cloaked in the protective mask.

“Yes?” I asked her. She tugged down the mask so her lips curled up into a smile for me. “You wanna get outta here, don't ya?”

“Of course. I think you might have a little bit of a mess forming on the soles of your sneakers, too.”

“Oh. Oh, shit—”

“It's alright, sweet boy. It's gonna happen.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip as I inched off of her lap and into the driver's seat. I swung my legs to the side to make sure the meaty mossy stuff from the City didn't get on her—there was all manner of things on the sidewalks already, so it was the last thing I wanted to get onto her. Mrs. Hamilton managed to duck out from underneath my feet and into the outside.

Indeed, I caught a weird whiff of something out there and I knew it had to do with the stuff on my feet. I tugged up the kerchief around my neck up to my nose and my mouth and lay my feet down on the seat, and I sat upright. I slithered out from the seat and into the City, or what had become of it anyway. I looked up to the skyscrapers, which looked to be covered in some kind of meaty vine like shit.

“Joey!”

I lowered my gaze to the sidewalk before me. Lars strode up to me with that mask firmly pressed to the front of his face.

“What are you waiting for, man? Come along!”

“Just lookin' at what happened here,” I explained to him as I looked about the deserted street. I had no idea what street we were even on, much less where Angeline had wanted to take us.

“By the way,” he started as he moved in closer to me; he cleared his throat to which he lowered the tone of his voice, “why mention the ghosts that live with you?”

“I saw Mrs. Snow at the end of the block when we left Black Orchid,” I said in a single breath.

“Who?”

“Mrs. Snow. One of the ghosts that lives with me.”

“How'd you know it was her?”

“I felt her.”

“What do you mean 'you felt her'?”

“I felt her in my bones. I knew it was her, too—she's a nurse and she dresses in all white. I call her Mrs. Snow because she shows up before a snow and I feel her in my bones.”

“What does she have to do with anything?” he demanded.

“When I was in that room—the room where Maya's sleeping in—I noticed her skin looked like patchwork, like there was—new skin added to her.”

He knitted his eyebrows at that.

“Are you suggesting—she took the flesh out of the container and tacked it onto Maya?”

“I'm not suggesting it, I'm sure of it, Lars.”

“She's a ghost, Joey,” he said, curt.

“Yeah, I'm aware of that.”

“What makes you think she'd use that leftover flesh—that sliced wife meat—to do such a thing?”

“Because she's a nurse!” I raised my tone a little bit, and so the both of us froze in place. He turned his head to ensure that we were alone, and we were, and then he returned to me.

“Because she's a nurse,” I repeated in a near whisper. “And by the way, will ya stop callin' it that? That makes my stomach churn up a storm just thinkin' 'bout it.”

“Why? It is what it is, Joey.”

“But it's so fuckin' gross, though—especially after you fed it to Charlie.”

“What?” Charlie called from down the block.

“Nothing!” Lars called back to him. He returned to me with his eyes gleaming. “Makes me wonder why she'd do that.”

“Who knows. Usually when I see her, she's wanting to cut off my hands at the wrist when I'm even so much as changin' my clothes. Anyways, here comes Angeline.”

She scurried up behind Lars with a flustered look on her face.

“Come on, come on!” she insisted with a gesture of her hand, and Lars and I followed her along the sidewalk, past a little alleyway, and to the corner to meet up with Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Mrs. Hamilton there.

“So where are you taking us?” Mrs. Hamilton asked her.

“There's a hospital right here,” Angeline explained with a gesture to right across the street, “and I have a lead to it as well as the warehouse.”

“That actually kind of looks like the warehouse now that I have a good look at it,” Lars pointed out.

“It's connected to the warehouse,” she said. “Whatever they can't do there, they send them here.”

The bunch of us hurried across the street towards the front door, where we met with two columns of something on either side of it. We came closer and I realized it was piles of flesh. That container of sliced chunky pastrami seemed pale in comparison at the sight of that right then.

And then Frankie saw it.

“Fucking—fuck!”

The doors were sealed shut with that same meaty shit and the fact we were surrounded by it made me want to jump on the whole thing with a knife. A knife!

I was about to double back to the sidewalk and head for a side door of some sort, and then Charlie body slammed the glass of the doors. It shattered into a million pieces all around him as he landed on his side there on the floor. He then sat up and climbed to his feet as if nothing happened.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Angeline remarked with a slight chuckle.

“Sometimes you've gotta throw yourself into things,” he pointed out as she shook his pant legs about. “Alright, now where to?”

“Over here,” she said as she climbed through the Charlie shaped hole first. Mrs. Hamilton followed suit, then Frankie and Danny, and then Lars, and lastly myself. The whole front wing of the hospital was spotless and bright lit as if no one had even been here before. Not a single soul to be found.

But Angeline guided us to a short hallway to the right, and she pushed open a single door for us. We filed into a big dark room that made me think of a movie theater with its solid dark walls surrounding us. To my right stood one of those one way mirrors you'd see in cop shows; to the left was a catwalk complete with a grated walkway, but the railing was protected so once we reached that, Angeline coaxed us to duck down behind it. She reached a single spot on the catwalk and crouched there in anticipation for the rest of us. She then raised her head a bit so as to peek over the edge. I followed suit: I knew it was going to be hard for me given the crown of curls on top of my head, but I managed to keep my eyes level with the actual railing itself.

Down below was a vast stretch of linoleum that looked to be illuminated with that same blue neon. On the far side of the room was another one of those one way mirrors as it looked out to the City outside. At least I had hope it was one of those one way mirrors. I figured it out rather quickly: if they were making clones in the warehouse, they were taking apart the specimens there in the hospital. Humans came to that room in particular to die.

I recognized him in the left side of the room, strapped down a table with a bunch of needles jabbed into his arms and legs. His stringy hair fanned out from all around his head.

“There's Scott,” I whispered with a gesture over there.

“You sure that's Scott?” Mrs. Hamilton whispered back to me.

“Pretty sure that's Scott, Mrs. Hamilton. You can practically smell his eyebrows from a mile away.”

“Look at all of those machines,” Lars remarked, “hooked up to his body as if he's incredibly ill.”

“And that tube down his throat,” Danny added. “At least I hope that's a tube.”

“Look at that doctor right there,” Frankie pointed to the left side of the room. Indeed, there was a man in a black coat with a hood over his head overseeing Scott as if he was Death herself. His spidery fingers caressed over Scott's forehead.

“What a good boy you are,” I heard him whisper to Scott, even though I wondered if Scott could even so much as hear him. “You and John will be perfect for the next round of clones. Albeit musical ones.”

I didn't realize I had raised myself up over the railing to where my head was practically over the top of it. The man down below looked to the mirror on the other side of the room and then he turned his head. And then I wondered why a place like this would leave the door unlocked.

“It's a trap!” Lars squeaked.

“Shit!” I blurted out in a near whisper.

I scurried out first but I had no idea where I was going. All I cared about was getting the hell out of there.

I doubled back to the window there on the wall. I ducked down below the window. Over the roar of my own heartbeat in my ears, I heard silence. Silence in the wake of getting caught.

Maybe he didn't see me after all, and I freaked out over nothing. Lars crawled up next to me with a frightened look in his eye.

“They're going to kill us,” he said to me.

“Apparently,” I muttered as I tried to calm down my heartbeat. “If they plan on killin' Scott and John, then surely they're after us, too.” Charlie, Danny, and Frankie joined us.

“What do you think we should do?” Danny asked Lars and me.

 _SMASH_.

The window next to us shattered into a million pieces and three clones spilled out. Their eyes were bright like embers and their narrow sharp hands were held out such that they looked ready to tear the bunch of us into a million pieces.

“Well, get the hell out of here for one thing,” Charlie quipped, and we all ran blind back towards the door. It was the five of us. I bowed through the Charlie shaped hole in the front doors first, then Charlie himself, and I had no idea who else. I ran blind through the meaty jungle that became of the City. It was hard to run given the shit on my shoes: the soles were so slippery from what was there that it almost felt like I was skating along the sidewalk. Angeline said the warehouse was linked up to the hospital, but where the warehouse from there was beyond me. I skidded to a stop in the middle of the block to catch my breath.

“We have to go back!” Lars screeched in a broken voice.

“What? Why?” I demanded.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Danny added.

“By the way, Lars—” I added as I struggled to catch my breath. “When we're in a place like that again, and things feel off, don't say 'it's a trap!' unless we're all hiding together. Just about gave me a heart attack back there, Jesus Christ.”

“We're not going back there, either,” Frankie said as he lingered back to the alleyway. “I don't care what you say, either.”

“But Angeline and Mrs. Hamilton are back there!” Lars insisted.

“The hospital and the warehouse are linked up, though,” I recalled. “So I've got one thing to say and one thing to say only 'bout that: screw that!”

“Yeah, let's go to the warehouse,” Charlie concluded. We turned back to the car, where we were met with another clone of Maya climbing in through the hole left behind by the window.

“Oh, for cryin' out loud,” I muttered.

“Got another body slam in you, Char?” Frankie asked him.

“Nah, but I know Joey fights dirty, though.”

“What, 'cause I'm a hockey player you think I fight dirty?”

“You're tough, Joe,” Danny pointed out. Right as he said that, the clone turned around to see me with those bright glowing eyes. If only I had my ice skates with me.

But I did have meat on the soles of my shoes, though. She curled her upper lip at me like I was fresh meat. She lunged for my crotch again but I lunged back. She took a swing at the spot between my legs again but I caught her leg right before she could make an impact. I found one of these fuckers on the sidewalk, dead and bloated and heavy, and she split apart in the hospital. Heavy or not, they were fragile. I could make her split apart here with my bare hands if I wanted.

She twisted and writhed to try and break free. But I was stronger than her because I was a real boy. I gripped onto her ankle with my other hand and turned to the side like I was holding a hockey stick.

I was holding a hockey stick.

I buckled my knees and yanked her back towards whatever was behind me. The four of them leapt out of the way for me. I shot out one foot to steady myself on the sidewalk.

I swung her around and pirouetted about one foot like I was shooting the puck from out of bounds to the rest of the rink. I slammed her head on the sidewalk and it came right off at the neck. Blood flooded out from the base of her head and I hurled the rest of the body down the sidewalk. It splattered apart on the sidewalk up ahead and a whole sheet of blood followed in its wake. It was so much blood that it made me chuckle.

The next time I played hockey I would have fill the puck with red dye to show the guys just how hilarious it was to see.

But then I turned back around to find the head still alive on the ground behind me. We congregated around it as her teeth barred at us and her eyes glowed with rage. I looked up to see Frankie had found a pole of sorts.

“There was a dumpster over here with a pile of metal pipes next to it,” he explained. I looked down at the head as she glared at me. I was the guy that found her. And now it seemed like the clones were out to get me specifically, probably because of it. I swallowed again and then I looked back up at Frankie.

“Frankie—take it out,” I told him with a nod of my head.

“Gladly!”

He picked up the head by the hair and tossed it into the air. He took a swing with the pipe and he missed. The head splattered onto the ground but it didn't break apart despite the blood running out from its eye sockets.

“Fuck.”

He picked up the head again and tried for another swing. He got it that time, complete with a loud _THWACK!_ and the head flew over to the hospital. It landed on the other side of the front doors to make another hole.

“Shit!” he said.

“Yeah, let's get over to the warehouse,” Lars remarked as we all scrambled back to the car.


	18. i'm about to break you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"i hope they cannot see the limitless potential,  
>  living inside of me to murder everything.  
> i hope they cannot see i am the great destroyer!"_  
> -"the great destroyer", nine inch nails

My entire crotch was sore from where that clone had kicked me but at least all of the adrenaline had warded off most of the pain. I kept there in the front seat with my legs spread apart to ease the feeling there. I wished for Cindy to touch me there when things settled down again, that is if something awful happened again.

Lars bounded up to the curb as if he was a racecar driver and the bunch of us all but piled out onto the sidewalk. We stood there before the front door of that same warehouse from before with our cloths over our noses and mouths as if we were a bunch of bandits.

“Just how exactly is the hospital and the warehouse linked up together?” Danny wondered aloud.

“No clue,” said Lars as he adjusted the kerchief over his nose and mouth.

“Still got that pipe, Frankie?” I glanced to my right.

“Right here.” He showed it to me before he put it back over his shoulders.

“Alright, so what do we do?” Charlie asked Lars.

“Alright,” Lars declared. “So first of all—ehh, let's just improvise. The goal is to get Scott and Bush out of trouble, but since we've been separated from Mrs. Hamilton and Angeline, it's going to be a challenge. If we save those two men, we get the women out, too.”

“Alright. How do we do that?”

“Destroy the problem at the heart?” I suggested.

“Yes!” Lars exclaimed. “We take care of this place—uncover the problem at the root, and that's to end the clones. If we end the production of the clones, we'll get the two men out of trouble. So let's go in—” He led us back into the warehouse. I thought back to when we were in that underground spot in Syracuse and I wondered if that was just part of the problem. If we took care of business here, maybe my poor city would stop vanishing and reappearing at every whim for no reason.

The wood creaked underneath our feet as we made our way to that one section in the middle of the floor, the one that showed us that wide open space where we saw a clone being made. We peered over the railing to see the floor was empty. All the tables had vanished and left behind a large stretch of smooth glassy ice in its wake. There was a door on the far side of the room, though. Maybe that was the link to the hospital?

“The door over there is locked,” Lars pointed out.

“How do you know?” I asked him.

“There's a bar over it.”

“Oh.”

“It's a long way over there, though,” Charlie pointed out. Lars turned his head to the wall on the left; I followed his gaze. A brand new pair of ice skates dangling from the hook next to the doorway. Inside of the doorway was that one room where all those masks crawled over me like a shitload of insects.

“Skates—” he muttered, and then he back looked at me.

“Joey—” he said.

“You want me to put them on and go over there, don't ya,” I replied.

“You're the only one with knowledge of the skates,” he pointed out. “Given how slippery it is, you could just go before it and hit something so it flies up and breaks the bar, because I can tell you a strong enough blow to it will shatter it.” He flashed me a wink and I knew what he was getting at right there.  
“Okay,” I told him, and I ducked behind them to fetch the skates.

“I'll see if there's something of a puck quality,” Frankie assured me.

“I'll come along!” Danny piped up.

“And I'll make sure you guys are alright,” Charlie added.

The three of them ducked out the other side of the room, which in turn left Lars and me alone. Given the door was closed, I slid the cloth down off my face so I could better breathe. I took a seat on the floor and pried off my shoes. That nasty fleshy shit on the soles had fallen away as we walked in so the soles were weirdly clean when I set the shoes down on the floor boards next to me.

“Part of me just wants to whip out a mallet and go nuts,” he quipped.

“How you gonna do that?” I asked him as I lifted my head.

“No idea, but—it's—it's—it's something.”

I put the skates on my feet: they were a little small but at least I could put them on.

“Okay, I neglected to tell you one other thing,” Lars blurted out in a low voice.

“What's that?” I asked him as I laced up the skates.

“I didn't kill my wife to protect her,” he said in a low voice.

“You didn't?”

“I killed her because—” He hesitated.

“Because why?” I asked him. He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Lars...” I started as I sat in an upright position. “Why did you kill her.” I lowered my voice to a near whisper so the others wouldn't hear me. He gazed at me with those wide green eyes.

“...why,” I whispered to him.

“I killed her because—she was going to kill me.”

“Kill _you_?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“So you killed her and you kept eatin' her?” I felt my stomach turn at that.

“Yes. I also had a feeling that that sliced wife meat would come in handy at some point.”

“So ya fuckin' dicked us around this whole entire time?” I demanded.

“No!” he scoffed. “No, no, no! And keep your voice down, too.”

“Well, then—what the hell, Lars?”

“She was going to kill me, man! She was going to slit my throat and then make me into the same thing I made her into.”

“'Cause you're—chubbs-ish?”

“No, because I got fired. You know, the whole thing about how chicks are attracted to rock stars.”

“Pffff, yer preachin' to the choir with that one. But—c'mon, man, you don't think she was that shallow and violent, do you?”

“She was! She only wanted me because I was Mister Trommer.”

“Mister what?”

“Drummer, I mean. That was the only reason she married me. Very intelligent and powerful woman, but—God, she—yeah.”

“So you gave 'er the upper hand?” I concluded as I shuffled my feet about to make sure the skates were on snug.

“Exactly. I showed her my hand and she threatened to whack it off for herself, so I—acted on impulse and used it myself.”

“Damn.”

I turned my head to find Danny, Frankie, and Charlie emerging from that same where the masks crawled over me like insects.

“Not a word of it, though,” Lars whispered to me.

“Man, you gotta say sump'n at some point, though,” I told him as I stood to my feet. The skates pinched my toes but it was all I had right then.

“Here, Joey—” Frankie handed me a red ball about the size of my palm: like one of those dodgeballs you'd see in school but smaller.

“Where'd you find this?” I asked him as I took it to feel for myself: it felt heavy, like there was a dead weight on the inside.

“Danny found it—it was laying on the floor. Reminded me of a shotput or sump'n. I held onto it and I knew it would do the trick.”

“There's also a stairwell over here,” Charlie added; he pointed down the hole and indeed, I spotted the bottom of a staircase down below.

“Alright.” I led the way over to that aforementioned stairwell with that sphere in hand. Frankie then handed me the pipe as we descended to the floor down below. The ice covered that floor and it made me wonder if there was something else underneath all of this. Something that Lars didn't even know himself.

“So I just go over here an' knock it to the door?” I asked them.

“Yeah,” Lars answered. “You could probably take the bar off by hand but it looks awful slippery.” Or maybe Lars did know himself. I felt it in my bones.

“It's pretty slippery lookin' linoleum, Joe,” Danny pointed out.

“It's ice, though,” said Frankie.

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“SHUT UP!” Lars shrieked, and the entire place fell into silence.

I fetched up a sigh and stepped out onto the ice. The blades on the bottoms of the skates ground across the surface like the edge of a razor blade. It was in fact ice. I spotted a few blotches underneath the surface of the ice. I came near them to find they were as red as the ball in my hand.

Butterflies whirled up in my stomach but I had to keep a brave face. I wasn't afraid.

I gripped onto the pipe as if I was about to play a round of hockey. In fact, that was all it was when I thought about it. A round of hockey with my friends. The goalie about to send out the puck for a new round.

I spread my legs apart so I could keep myself steady on the ice. I didn't have my knee pads on so I had to be careful.

One foot forward, and then the other. I came closer to the door and turned to the side to come to a stop. I set that red ball down on the ice. I was just about to use a straight up pipe: no head on the bottom, so I had to step back a little bit. I held the pipe at an angle down by my hips.

I closed my eyes and thought of my mom. My mom putting her arms around my waist from behind and feeling my stomach. I thought of my dad: the man who got me my hockey mask and my drum kit. My parents did a lot for me: it made sense for me to return the favor.

I took a swing at the ball on the ice.

It sailed up and I noticed some drops of red flying off of it. I dodged back because I had no idea what would happen when it hit the door.

And then I smacked the back of my head on something hard. So hard that I felt it knock me out.

“'Scuse me while I kiss this guy—” I muttered as I fell to the floor. I felt something catch me, though: I rolled my head over to see Lars' face. He caught me before I fell onto the ice.

“Stay with me, Joey!” his voice echoed through my ears as if he stood at the bottom of a canyon. “Stay with me!”

I blinked several times to clear my eyes: I could see a whole row of something coming towards us. My head hurt so bad that it was hard to see just where we were going. Science going horribly wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

Through my blurred vision, I could see Danny, Frankie, and Charlie's silhouettes above me. I wish I knew what was happening.

“They're going to kill us,” was all I could hear Lars say. “They're all going to kill us!”


	19. other side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“fly by night, away from here,  
>  change my life again.  
> fly by night, goodbye, my dear.  
> my ship isn't coming and i just can't pretend!”_  
> -”fly by night”, rush

I fluttered my eyes to try and regain my consciousness. My vision blurred and my body fell completely limp in Lars' arms. I could hear voices but I had no clue as to what they were saying.

And all I could think about was the fact Lars killed his wife because he was going to kill her.

He killed her because she was about to kill him. He killed her and then he sliced and diced her into strips and slices like she was a carcass. She was a carcass. She needed to be eaten. She needed to be eaten but he needn't feed her to Charlie of all people, for fuck's sake.

That was all I could think about as the pain in my head proved to be too much to bear. My head was spinning. I closed my eyes and their voices drowned out into nothing.

I pictured myself on the ice once again, that time with the hockey stick firmly inside of the palm of my hand. The blades on the bottoms of my skates were razor sharp. I was headed somewhere but I had no idea where to be precise. I was surrounded by darkness, gaping pitch dark darkness. All was silent and still.

I looked down at myself to find black leather fitting my body and up to my neck. I skated forward to the other side of the smooth pearly white ice towards her laying there on her side. I recognized her body dressed in that purple coat and that black hair fanned out from the back of her head.

A chill ran down my spine as I thought about that night in the rain. I should have taken her to the hospital willy nilly: I should not have let my own genitals get in the way. But I was there. It was an itch I couldn't seem to scratch and I wanted her to be safe for a moment while I took care of myself.

I did what I did, and there I was skating towards her with a hockey stick in hand.

A cold whisper ran over the edge of my ear. Like chilled fingers running over my skin and all throughout the roots of my black curls.

I had no idea what they were telling me, but I had a feeling it was something important. Or maybe it wasn't.

No, it was definitely important. It was either focus on her body on the ice ahead of me, which appeared to be sliding further away the closer I came to her like the end of the rainbow, or focus on the voices.

A phone ringing? A phone ringing.

Something ached. Something felt odd.

I peered over my shoulder. No one there. And yet the whispers were right in my ear.

“—bury her—” one of them said.

“—run, fucker—” said another one.

“—shut up—” said another one.

I shook my head about. How was I to bury her when I had a hockey stick in hand?

But I came closer to her lifeless body to find her entrails spread out before her. I had no idea if she was a clone or if it was actually Maya before me.

I looked behind me again. Darkness. Total darkness.

And yet I could see her just fine.

I returned to her.

I heard Mrs. Hamilton's voice whisper right into my ear, “be gentle with her, Joey.”

I swallowed and held the hockey stick up to my waste, and I bent forward to nudge her. She slid across the ice in her own blood and guts: I spotted small bright lit ruptured wires emerging from the huge holes in her chest and her side.

“Be gentle with Maya—” Mrs. Hamilton repeated.

But I didn't want to be gentle even with my trying to stay kind. I gripped onto the hockey stick hard. This dead woman has brought me nothing but misery! Lars and I almost got our asses handed to us when we took her dead ass to the hospital! Pain in the ass!

I raised the hockey stick over my head and brought it back down. I beat her dead corpse with that hockey stick: more blood and stuff gushed out from her gaping wounds like a ketchup dispenser. I then swung it behind me and smacked her in the lower back to shoot her far away from me.

“—BURY HER, BOY!” one of the voices whispered into my ear. All I could see was fiery red.

“—come home, Joey—” I heard my mom's voice call to me.

“Bury her alive,” I said to myself. “Bury her alive like how I was buried alive. Do it for real.”

I jarred myself awake right then. I looked about the room: Lars had brought me back to Black Orchid given I recognized the ceiling overhead. I rolled my head over to see Maya laying in the other bed next to me. I didn't want to think that of her, especially since it wasn't her fault.

I lay my pillow down on the pillow underneath my head. The bed, while small, was warm and cozy: just big enough for me. All I could hear was the sound of Rush's “Fly By Night” whirring through my head from the thundering drums to Geddy's shrill shriek of a voice that has influenced me for years. Yet another song I wanted to cover before all of them clones killed me.

I had no idea how long I had been laying there, but at least the pain in my head had disappeared.

I thought about the dream I had had then. One of the voices told me to bury her, and I heard my own voice say to do it for real. I lifted my head again to see her sleeping soundly on the other side of the room. To think Mrs. Snow had snuck in here to keep her alive.

“So what the hell are we going to do?” I heard Frankie's voice float up from downstairs. “Scott and John are both probably going to die, and Joey's out like a light—”

“Like a light,” I muttered to myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a glimmer of neon outside of the window. I thought of Mrs. Snow, and also Mr. Lang, Vera, and Nerissa. Light from the other side.

Bury her... bury her alive...

I returned to Maya again, and the sight of her chest rising and falling in steady motion.

I knew how to stop the clones and the whole thing from coming. As much as I didn't want to hurt her or do anything destructive to her, it had to be done.


	20. i survived

It wasn't easy but I managed to slither out from underneath the covers: sitting upright made my head spin. Whatever hit me in the head did a number on my sense of balance, but I managed to catch myself on the side of the door frame. I stood still to make sure that it was in the fact the bump on my head and not the fact that I had stood up too quickly.

Once I had a steady stance on the dark wooden floor underneath me, I went ahead down the hall and towards the staircase.

One step at a time. Last thing I wanted was to fall ass over teakettle down the stairs.

I reached the bottom in time to see Lars there at the mouth of the hallway: he had turned away from the hall so his back was to me. But I knew what they were talking about in there, especially when Frankie nodded at me from the bar on the other side of the room.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Charlie declared from the strip chess table. Lars turned around to see me.

“There he is! Walking around like always—I was just about to check on you—”

“We gotta go back to the warehouse,” I promptly said.

“What! Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe—especially after I got konked in the head, it's likely. But we have to go back and get Scott and John outta there.”

“And—how do we do that?” Frankie asked me as Gwendolyn served him a glass of stout.

“Here, lemme come closer—”

Lars led me into the room so everyone could hear me. I took my seat in between Charlie and Louise at the strip chess table. My head was still spinning even as I sat down there.

“Would you like something to drink, Joey?” Gwendolyn offered me.

“Ya got any ginger ale?” I asked her.

“I think we do—let me check—” She ducked back into the kitchen.

“Anyways, so here's what we do...” I began, but then Louise stopped me by putting a hand on my wrist.

“Wait for Mrs. Hamilton first,” she suggested. The six of us awaited there in the front of the room and listened to Gwendolyn rummage through the kitchen for a thing of ginger ale for me. It gave me a chance to lean back in the chair and rub my temples.

“How's your head, by the way?” Frankie asked me.

“Doesn't hurt as bad as it used to. But I'm like—really dizzy, though. It's makin' my stomach turn a bit.”

I looked over at Lars and I wondered if he confessed to them what he did. But then again, I had my belief that he would keep a secret like that, especially with Charlie in the room. Those lips were sealed and I held out hope that they stayed that way while I was unconscious.

“What even hit me in the head, by the way?” I asked them.

“No clue,” Charlie admitted with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah, we just saw you go all rigid and then you keeled over like you were going to collapse,” Lars added. “But something hit you, though. Hit you and then knocked you out cold for a few hours straight. We bounced out of there and all the way back here. I should have known it was a trap, too.”

“I keep tellin' ya, man,” Frankie insisted after he took a sip from his glass, “none of us knew. Although you should'a known that was a speed trap, though.”

“Joey's eyes were rolling into the back of his head, man!” Lars proclaimed. “And the hospital in Syracuse was nowhere to be seen!”

“We were chased by the cops?” I muttered.

“You still didn't have to go a hundred miles an hour, though,” Charlie laughed to himself. “We were about to get pulled over but man, those clones come in use, don't they?”

“Their fragile bodies have quite a bit of strength,” Lars pointed out with a shrug, “she nailed that one right in the head so I am glad that we were not pulled over.”

“A clone took a swing at a cop?” I muttered again.

“Although, to be fair, I think those guys were going to be eaten anyways,” Danny joined in from across the room.

“Cops got eaten?” I cleared my throat. Gwendolyn emerged from the kitchen right then with a glass of bubbling ginger ale for me.

“Here, Joey—” She handed me the glass and I took a little swig of it.

“Ohhhh, that's better. Anyways, so what we do is we get our asses back in there and we try to open the door again. However, Lars—I want you to use Mrs. Hamilton's radar detector and see if it picks up where the clones are. If there are some coming, we bounce outta there and to the hospital to get Scott, John, Mrs. Hamilton, and Angeline, and then we come back here for—her.”

“For Maya?” Lars asked me.

“Yeah. Remember when you and I brought the clone to the hospital?”

“How could I forget?”

“Cut off the head and the body will bleed out and die.” I took another swig of ginger ale.

“You want to kill her?” Lars sputtered.

“I don't wanna kill her, man!” I scoffed. “But it's the only way to stop the clones and to save us all.”

He fetched up a sigh.

“Okay. I have a feeling that you are right, Joey. I just want to ask you one question, though.”

“What's that?”

“Where _is_ Mrs. Hamilton's radar detector?”

“It's—in the glove box of her car, isn't it?”

“You sure it's her car, right?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“I remember taking it out of there,” Louise recalled.

“Yeah, that's right, you took it out,” I said with a wag of my finger. She headed back to the bar to fetch something. We watched her take her bag out of hiding; she rummaged through it in search of that thing. She then frowned at us.

“It's out in the truck!” she declared.

“Okay, good. Explains the 'speed trap'.” I took another sip of ginger ale.

“Why does Mrs. Hamilton even have a radar detector?” Danny wondered aloud.

“Wish I knew the answer to that,” I said once I swallowed it down.

“I don't even know,” Gwendolyn confessed.

“Doubt Cindy knows, too,” Frankie added.

“Besides, I thought that thing didn't work,” I recalled. “That's why you threw it out the window, Frankie.”

“We were goin' through Syracuse, though.”

I took one last swig of ginger ale at that and set the glass down on the table.

“Let's bounce,” I said to them as Louise handed me my coat, which one of them had hung up near the door.

I was in the hot seat that time around, with Lars right next to me. Charlie, Frankie, and Danny were in the back seat behind us. I had to make one quick stop, though—to fetch one of the hockey sticks from the rink. If I was going to make an ace in the hole, I might as well do it right. Lucky for me, Lars kept my skates on the floor of the truck down by his feet.

We made our way back down to the City in a few hours flat: at that point, it was almost nightfall. I had no idea what day it was, but I didn't care. I had my mask over my face to protect me, and they had theirs on, too. I brought us back to the warehouse.

Do it again, I said.

Fool them all, I said.

We reached the door and entered the front room again when that hooded doctor, the man who stood over Scott in the hospital lunged for us with a bunch of clones. We scrambled apart, which in turn left me alone with my back to the wall.

I gripped onto my hockey stick and kept it down by my waist. I backed up towards the wall.

He was faceless, with nothing more than a pitch dark shadow covering his entire head courtesy of that hood. For all I knew there was nothing inside of there. He brought one long spindly hand to the pocket of his lab coat for something.

“You're that little long haired bastard that tried to open the door,” he snarled at me. “With my blood ball no less.”

“Hey, you're the son of a bitch that hit me in the head!” I declared.

“You know they say not to bring a stick to a gun fight, right?”

I swallowed as he pointed the end of the barrel at my belly. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, and the hockey stick was nothing more than a stick at that point.

Something beaned him right in the back of the head. He fell to the side, right on the floor, unconscious. I looked over to see Frankie had thrown the radar detector right at his head.

“Yeah, apparently, you also shouldn't bring a gun to a radar detector fight,” I retorted as Frankie scurried over to pick it up. I rounded him and made my way over to the stairwell once again with Frankie, Danny, Charlie, and Lars. We descended towards the ice again, only to the red slime from that ball still splattered over the surface of the ice before us.

“That's probably why he hit me in the head,” I said as I used the hockey stick to steady the four of them, one at a time, on their way over to the doorway.

“He wanted to stop you,” Lars remarked as he was careful to walk across the ice.

“He called it a 'blood ball', too,” I told him.

“A blood ball—as awful as that sounds, that sounds metal as fuck,” he remarked.

“Doesn't it?”

Within time, the five of us were by the doorway. It was dark aside from the light from the ice for the first few feet, but then we turned a corner. The corridor reminded me of that underground room in Syracuse: big green plants crept up the wall towards the ceiling but these ones cradled bundles of wires and dark computer screens. One that caught my attention was one which led to L'Amours there in the City.

They were spying on us. They were watching our every move before they ate us alive.

“There they are!”

I stared straight ahead to see Mrs. Hamilton at the end of the hallway with something in her arms.

“Mrs. Hamilton!” Frankie called out.

We all hurried towards each other, and then I saw what she was carrying.

“Don't ask us how we did it,” Angeline started from behind her, “but we broke Scott out. No idea where John is, though.”

Mrs. Hamilton cradled Scott in her arms much like how I held Maya in my arms when I took her home. Still in his white hospital gown and still with a delirious look upon his face. His bleary eyes gazed up at the five of us.

“Joey—” he breathed out.

“Scott, can you hear me?” I asked him.

“Joey—what are you doing with that with hockey stick?” I glanced over at the hockey stick, which I held over my shoulders to keep it out of the way.

“Swingin' it?” was all I could think of.

“Why—?”

“'Cause—I can?”

 _BEEP_.

We all looked at the radar detector in Frankie's hands. All of the lights went off in all manner of green and red. Indeed, I felt the tender spot on my wrist ache from where Maya shocked me. I shook my hand about.

“Clones,” said Lars in a low voice. “They're coming for us.”


	21. victim to villain

I had no idea how to get across the ice without one of them falling on their asses, and besides, when we reached that doorway, we were met with all of those clones in question. Hundreds of them, each with bright glowing eyes.

I thought back to when Lars belted one of those in the head with the pair of skates. I had a hockey stick, and three of those clones were no match for it. But I figured it was better if we went the other way, instead of having to fight through them and fall right on our asses on the ice all the way.

Indeed, that corridor brought us back to the hospital, where the plants were meeting with pieces of flesh. As the soles of my sneakers padded on the hard floor underneath me, all I could think about was Maya and Candace. Two girls who had entered my life almost on accident, and there I was having to save them. I had to let them die first, which made it feel fruitless of course, but I knew I was going to save them.

I skidded across the floor once we reached a corner. Lars followed, then Frankie and Charlie, Danny and Mrs. Hamilton, and lastly Angeline. Each step through the hallways of the hospital was marred with the noises coming out of the radar detector. They were in fact coming for us.

I had no idea where they could be, and in fact, I had no idea where the entrance even was. All I could remember was the Charlie shaped hole in the glass.

I felt like a Roman soldier with the hockey stick tucked under my arm. I was ready to beat any clones that tried to stop us from escaping.

What I wasn't ready for was the plants growing on the walls to lunge for my ankles.

A tendril wrapped around my right wrist to keep me from brandishing my hockey stick. Another thicker one took on my waist. Every inhale made it squeeze tighter and tighter, to where it felt like I couldn't breathe—

Lars lunged for the ones around my ankles as other tendrils took hold of Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Angeline. Mrs. Hamilton managed to dodge them as she ran with Scott in her arms. I punched out my arms to try and fight them, but I looked down to find Lars chomping on the one around my ankle like an animal. He took a big bite out of it and spat it out once it released me. That weakened the others, so I was able to jerk my right arm away and swing my hockey stick at the main root.

He did the same for Frankie, Charlie, Danny, and Angeline: took a big bite out of the tentacle and then spat it out. Each time it released us.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then put his mask back on over his nose and mouth.

“Little lion man!” I declared, to which Lars shrugged at me.

“I try my best,” he confessed, and we all continued on running to catch up with Mrs. Hamilton, who awaited us far up ahead of the hallway. Once we reached there, I noticed it was the front of the hospital, and I recognized the Charlie shaped hole in the front door.

We each ducked through it and back outside to the darkening cityscape.

“There's the truck!” Mrs. Hamilton declared.

I had parked it across the street so no funny business would happen to the passenger window, but the window really was the least of our troubles at that point. I reached it first and chucked the hockey stick into the bed.

We all piled in with Angeline between me and Lars. I shut the door before anything else horrible happened.

“Shit—I dropped the keys!”

I bowed forward to pick them off of the floor underneath my right foot when something hit the side of the bed.

“Joey!” Angeline shouted right in my ear. The radar detector made another loud BEEP.

I picked the keys off the floor right then and stuck the one into the ignition.

“Motherfucking CLONES!” was all I could think of. The truck roared to life and I bolted out of there as fast as I could.

I didn't care about no speed trap. I only cared about getting the hell out of there and back upstate. I didn't care if it took us four hours, either. Four hours on a blank stretch of road was enough for us to rest and think about things before we took care of business again.

Once I had brought us to the outskirts of the City, I peeled off my mask and set it up on the dashboard in front of me. I fetched up a sigh and leaned back in the seat.

“That was close,” Frankie remarked.

“Yeah, I'll say,” I added. “Once all this is over, we're all eatin' Lars' big European breakfast.”

“That sounds yummy,” Mrs. Hamilton said from the back seat.

“How's he doin', by the way?” I asked her with a glimpse into the rear view mirror.

“Never flinched once,” she replied. “We weren't able to find John, though.”

“Hope he's alright,” I said.

We all fell into silence as we made our way through the woods towards Monticello and Binghampton. Some time before Syracuse, I felt my stomach churn. All I had before then was that glass of ginger ale. I hadn't eaten anything for who knows how long.

So once I recognized the skyline and the sight of the blue and green neon lights all over the tops of the buildings, I couldn't help but bring a hand there to try and ease the discomfort. But it was useless.

And it was even more useless when I noticed all the little communities surrounding Syracuse had that neon decorating them as if it was ghoulish Christmas.

I brought us back to Black Orchid with a good amount of fuel left, but I was running on fumes at that point.

I pulled up to the curb, and tugged on the parking lever, and killed the engine, and leaned over the steering wheel.

“You okay, Joey?” Danny asked me.

“Starving,” I told him.

“Hopefully there's something to eat in the kitchen,” Mrs. Hamilton assured me. I let out a long low whistle and climbed out of the truck first. My head started to spin again, but it was more from riding across the state without so much as ginger ale in my stomach.

We all filed into Black Orchid, and that was when I saw his long smooth hair as it streamed behind his head and the stern expression on his face, right there next to Gwendolyn and Louise.

“John!” Charlie declared.

“Huh? What? John's here?” Scott blurted out right then; Mrs. Hamilton propped him up out on the front porch, probably so he had some fresh air, but it was amazing he even heard that.

“How'd you get here?” Lars asked him.

“Rode a few clones all the way up from the city,” John replied, nonplussed. “The last one started malfunctioning and so I high tailed it from her. I walked like ten miles to here, and I spotted the orchid on the roof.”

“That thing does wonders, doesn't it?” I said.

“Sure does,” he remarked with a little bob of his head. “I got here like three hours ago and these two ladies were telling me everything that's been going on here.” He fixed his gaze on me. “You're a real hero, Joey.”

“Nah, you're the hero,” I told him. “You disappearing brought us to saving everything, including ourselves.”

“Joey, would you like some soup?” Mrs. Hamilton offered me.

“Yes, please,” I said. No sooner had I opened my mouth when the radar detector made a bunch of noises again.

“Clones!” Scott shouted from the porch.

“Oh, shit!” everyone shrieked all at the same time.

Fuck it. I ran towards the hallway to fetch Maya. I had to get rid of her to keep them from coming. But how was I to get rid of her?

“Be gentle with her, Joey!” Mrs. Hamilton called after me as I hurried up the stairs. Fueled by nothing more than adrenaline and ginger ale.

I stumbled into the bedroom just in time to see Mrs. Snow dissipating into nothing. I lunged for Maya's body.

There must have been some way to dispose of her and in the gentlest way possible. The voices from my dream told me to bury her.

Bury her. Of course!

I held her delicate little body close to me as I hurried back down the stairs and to the hallway. I darted through the front room of Black Orchid. John opened the front door for me.

“Thanks, man!” I told him, to which he flashed me a thumbs up.

But I didn't go further than three steps when I felt something tackle me from behind. I never let go of Maya even as I hit the ground. She groaned in her throat as I struggled to get up and out of the snow. Something was attacking me. Mauling me.

And then someone yanked it off of me.

Using nothing more than my own sense of balance, I climbed to my knees and then onto my feet. I glanced back to find John had yanked a clone off of my back. He chucked it to the ground to try and break it apart.

“Got some nerve tackling a lead singer like that!” Scott shouted from the porch.

“Run, Joey!” Angeline shrieked. “Run! Run as fast as you can!”

In the dim light of the neon, I saw a tear in Maya's skin, right where Mrs. Snow had put the new skin on. She was bleeding right there. Not my fault, but still.

“Sorry, Leela,” I said aloud as I ran into the darkness with Maya in my arms.

Back to the earth from whence she and I both came.


	22. the arsonist

The neon followed me every step of the way. Even the lights from Syracuse made me think of ghost lights. It was the only thing to lead me through the pitch darkness. The darkness swirled over my head in thick dark clouds from the lake behind me. If not for that creepy light, I would get lost in a place I knew by heart otherwise.

I could feel the snow coming on over me, but it was the least of my troubles at that point. So let it snow. Let it snow and beat me down even more. A downtrodden every man, an average Joe no less, and there I was, about to save my own neck plus the people who betrayed me.

“Let them learn to forgive you,” Mr. Lang had told me.

Maya was light to the touch and feel, but she began to weigh me down when I remembered where it was within that proximity. For a good long while, I forgot I was still wearing skates. The blades clanked on the pavement underneath me with every running step. They held on as I made my way there.

I was a hockey player no matter what I did for myself on a musical level. I could run like the dickens, even with skates still on my feet.

So close, and yet so far away. My stomach was in agony, but the thought of the clones behind me kept me going. Kept me running. Running to her resting place.

I rounded the corner and I spotted the cafe on the right side of the street. On the left stood the reservation, shrouded in darkness except for the faint wisps of fog about the ground.

I could feel the ghosts upon me, more so than the clones themselves.

My arms burned from holding Maya for so long. But it was just another day at the office for my thighs and my ankles. My black curls waved behind me like streamers.

I made my way down the dirt road towards the trees and the sand baths. The fog surrounded the massive yard of dark sand.

“I'm sorry, Maya,” I blurted out in a broken voice. “I'm sorry—but it's for your and my own good. Say 'hi' to yer sister for me—”

I stepped onto the dark sand when I noticed a figure emerging out from the fog. Her full figure shrouded in darkness. And next to her were those large gaping eyes from the small head.

“Nerissa!” I squeaked out. “Nerissa! Vera! Help me!”

But they did nothing as I dove down to the sands to put Maya into one of the allotted holes. She fell right in there. I had no idea if she even woke up. It was a shallow hole, but it was going to be worth it. I scrambled back on my ass and my elbows as Nerissa and Vera neared the grave. I watched them drift over her and hang there in silence.

My heart hammered inside of my chest as the two ghosts just hung there over her grave. What the hell were they doing?

“C'mon, bury her!” My throat was dry. I felt like them. But they did nothing.

And then I remembered where I was.

I pushed myself forward into an upright position and crossed my legs. I didn't have that enormous war bonnet on my head but I did have my mother's blood running through my veins. I closed my eyes and tried to slow down my heart and my breathing.

I focused on Candace's journal and all the things she said. All of it a distant memory, but she was able to rest. Maya was able to rest right then.

Return to the earth. Return to the earth. Leave the wiring and it all behind, and return to the earth. Return to the earth and let it burn down. Burn to the ground and fall away. It's all good. It's all good. We're going to be fine. All of us. All of this nonsense will die with the clones.

Everything is going to be okay.

Return to the earth, for crying out loud!

I opened my eyes to find Nerissa and Vera had disappeared, but I had a whole army of neon behind me. I glanced down at the ground to find the sand bath before me was still wide open to the sky above, but there was no way she was going to climb out of there. She was too weak. Instead of actively killing her like what that doctor did to her and Candace, I had to leave her to die.

Not as bad, I guess.

I stuck my legs out before me and turned around to see the clones all standing behind me. Dozens of them. A vast sea of neon staring back at me to where they resembled an alien ship of sorts. Each and every one of them, all of them ticking time bombs before they all dropped dead themselves, but once twenty four hours was up, they should prove to be no longer a problem. The only drawback was this entire area was going to be covered in dead clones. Dead clones on my doorstep!

“Get out of here,” I said to them in a broken voice. “Get the fuck out of here, and don't ever come back.”

They all stood there, dumbfounded, like I was speaking in a foreign language to them. I had enough.

So I stood to my feet and towered over them, even with my skinny little body. And I let out the same note I let out down in the sewers and on “Metal Thrashing Mad”. My voice was gone but I did it anyway. The clones all withered and scrambled away from there.

I panted and struggled to catch my breath. I was exhausted. I looked to my left to see Vera looming on the soil before me. She had this look on her face like she wanted to comfort me. But I had enough.

I fell onto my back on the smooth sands and passed out right there. Maya and I killed each other.


	23. the last great love story

I opened my eyes to behold the sight of Lars' faint silhouette. Faint and fuzzy, but I blinked a few times until he entered my focus.

“I was hoping you'd wake up soon,” he told me with a smile on his face. “Your soup was getting cold.”

I groaned and flexed my back. I put my arms underneath me to hoist myself into an upright position in the bed. I was in the spare room in Black Orchid once again, right in the same bed where they kept Maya.

I looked out the window to see a thick blanket of pure white snow on everything outside.

“How long was I out?” I asked him as my voice broke.

“Three days,” he said as he brought a big glass bowl full of clam chowder from the other side of his body for me. “You were out like a light. We found you laying at the Indian reservation and we brought you back here. A nurse actually came up here from Syracuse to make sure nothing was wrong. You suffered a sugar crash but that was about it; she told us to feed you once you showed any signs of waking up.”

I reached up to touch the crown of my head. My hair was clean.

“Mrs. Hamilton gave you a pretty stout sponge bath to clean you up all nice and good,” he added.

“But I saved us all, though?” I asked him.

“Yes! You were totally, one hundred percent right, Joey, and I can't believe I missed that, either. Burying Maya in the sand baths stopped the clones right in their tracks. There hasn't been a clone to be seen in two days.”

“Wow!” I took the bowl and the spoon and took a big bite. It felt so good to eat something!

“The first day, though—it was rather treacherous.”

“Were they all behavin' funky?” I asked him once I swallowed down the fourth bite of potatoes and clams.

“Understatement if I ever heard one,” he confessed. “We all bunked out here until the coast was clear, and then the snow came in. There is—still a lot to be taken care, though, like the shit going on down in Syracuse.”

“We'll recover from this,” I assured him as I took another bite. There was a knock on the door. Lars turned his head and his face lit up. I followed his gaze to see Cindy in the doorway, wrapped in that little leather jacket of hers.

“There she is!” he declared. Her face softened at the sight of me.

“Hi, Joey,” she greeted me as she strode into the room.

“He just woke up but he looks pretty lucid,” Lars told her as he stood to his feet.

“Hungry as holy hell, too,” I added as I shoveled in another big bite of chowder.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Lars said to her as he strode out of the room.

“Lars?” Cindy reached down to pick up a tennis racket from the side of the bed.

“Ah! Yes, thank you.” He took the racket from her and slung it over his shoulder. “Ice tennis with Frankie.”

“Have fun,” I told him as he ducked out of the room. Cindy took her seat on the edge of the bed and stroked the inside of my thighs.

“I almost die and the only thing you can think about is touchin' me?” I teased her, which brought a chuckle out of her.

“Of course I wanna touch you. You saved us, Joey.”

“More than the group of us,” I said as I took a few more bites, “it was also saving the one thing that makes me happy. Music.”

“Killing musicians for their skin—all it needed was for one to go right to the root.”

Her fingers inched closer to my hips but she hesitated.

“What's wrong?” I asked her as I set the bowl to my right side.

“I can't,” she said with a solemn look on her face.

“You sure?”

“Positive. I'm a stripper, Joey. I'm in the sex industry. I fall in love with every client I encounter. I give myself to them and they return the favor, and that's all there is to it. But—I'll always have a special place in my heart for you, though.” She set a hand on the side of my face and brought her lips to mine. Her lips were soft and tasted like apple pie, just how she promised me in the beginning. She hung back to look at me right in the face.

“You're the best I ever had,” she whispered to me.

With nothing more, she stood to her feet and ambled out of there to leave me with my soup. I wolfed it down because I was starving, but I knew I was going to have to have more than that. Once I was finished, I climbed out of bed and set my feet on the hard floor underneath me. To think no one found out what Lars had done, and yet we all saw him eat at those tentacles to save us. I held out hope that no one asked questions, but as my ankles quivered, I had my doubts. I made my way down the stairs with the empty bowl in hand and with no clothes on. I stepped into the front room to see Mrs. Hamilton chatting something with Scott.

“Hey, there he is!” he declared.

“Here I am, wondering what happened to my clothes.”

“We took your clothes to the laundromat,” she replied, “we had to do laundry, anyways. Right over there—” She pointed to the bar, where I spotted my jeans, my shirt, and my coat, all three neatly folded near the end. I took my bowl back there for it to be washed and then I put on my shirt. I unfurled my pants before me; I was about to zip out with my back to them when one of them cleared their throat.

“By the way—Joey?” Scott called after me. I zipped up and turned back to face him walking towards me. He had a solemn look on his face, and I knew what this was about.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. And yeah—we were wrong to let you go.” A twinkle emerged in his eye, and I couldn't resist the smile on my face.

“That means I'm back in?”

“Yeah. John says it's your time and it's your place to claim and own up. He's got Armored Saint and a solo endeavor. He told us he'll get by. We all need each other, especially now. Sure the clones are gone, but it’s officially all us rockers versus the world now, more so now than before we let you go. We need a fighter out front. If you wanna thank him, he's outside chattin' with Lars and Frankie.”

I extended a hand to him and he shook it on good terms. I was back in the lead singer position yet again! I then ran my fingers through my black curls to nurse the feeling.

But for the time being, I decided to check out that game of ice tennis, and the back home with Lars for a nap.


End file.
